


Hold It Gently; My Heart Burns For You

by Fly09Fire



Series: My Heart Burns [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Canon Rewrite, Captivity, Developing Relationship, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance, Semi Timeline-Compliant, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Tension, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, capture fic, new lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 88,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26902711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fly09Fire/pseuds/Fly09Fire
Summary: “I’d hate being kept from the sun.” Zuko reaches over her shoulder so his pale hand glows. Moonlight bathes her in silver, cloaking her like a second skin of crushed diamonds. Men of the Fire Nation burn the air around them. Women shimmer like a hot summer day.He’s never seen anyone sparkle.“I… I shouldn’t have stolen the moon from you. Tui’s waiting.”She breathes in. “It’s impossible to steal the moon. But you did steal me.”~ ~ ~My take on the series if Zutara were the series endgame. Feat. canon-divergences, aged-up characters, mature themes, pining and Two Idiots in Love.
Relationships: Aang & Katara & Momo (Avatar), Aang & Katara (Avatar), Appa & The Gaang (Avatar), Appa - Relationship, Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Katara & Iroh (Avatar), Katara & Sokka (Avatar), Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Suki (Avatar), Zutara - Relationship
Series: My Heart Burns [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144463
Comments: 568
Kudos: 540





	1. Imprisoned

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I've done Avatar justice. 
> 
> This has recently been massively reconstructed to fit the form of how I will write Book Two. I am a sucker for Continuity. Hopefully I haven't confused you guys too much <3
> 
> Big Love, big reads <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh I've been editing up a storm today, my eyes are bleeding, haha. But I persevered for you guys and can now get back to Book Two!
> 
> You, everyone who reads this, all my lovely Kudos giving superstars, please let me know what you thought of this chapter! Knowing I’ve done a good job means the world to me and keeps me pressing on into Book Two!!!

The first thing Katara learned to be proud of, is she is her mother’s daughter. And when the Fire Nation came for her, she did as she was asked. She ran. She ran when the snow fell black. She ran when the soldiers in red stormed the black shale beaches. She ran when her mother told her to find her brother. She ran to her family’s tent and tripped on the body. Father held her. Her older brother Sokka was supposed to be the stoic one, but he cried when she was supposed to as Gran Gran led Kya’s rise to Tui and La. Katara watched, and thought it a shame she died inside, away from the snow.

In the South Pole there is no place to bury their dead. Giving Kya over to flames was out of the question, so they had to drag the body far away, so it did not rot in the home. The Fire Nation left the loved ones to do it.

~ ~ ~

Imprisoned

Darkness presses in. Katara can’t get comfy on the cold metal of her cell. Can’t sleep. Can’t pull herself out of the pit of despair Tyro and the other Earthbenders acceptance of their fate threw her into. Everything she knows about Earthbenders feels like a lie, and that in turn makes her feel even worse. Tyro alone has been in prison longer than Katara’s been able to competently bend water. How can she blame him for being so hopeless? How is she supposed to accept these people just want to roll over and wait for it to end? In a war lasting a hundred years, the systematic breaking of spirits has become second nature to Fire Nation torturers.

Effortless cruelty fills this metal place. They don’t have to whip or beat their prisoners. That would require too much effort. Besides, physically broken tools can’t work. It’s in the softly rotten food, not enough to make the workers sick, but tastes like Katara’s cleaned Momo with her tongue like an owlcat. The insufficient blanket to prisoner ratio directs the hate easily from the guards to the have blankets and have nots. Old bones creak, ache with cold, stiff as the constant metal, slowly debilitating until bowing to metal is the smart choice, not the desperate one.

The hopelessness of it all worms its way into Katara’s heart. Alone in this cruel metal place, alone with her cruel, miserable thoughts. How did it come to this?

~ ~ ~

Eleven Months Previously:

The Boy in the Iceberg

Katara’s furs more than keep the cold at bay as morning gathers its breath across brittle, fresh fallen snow. They have to get up early if they want to dig the snow walls. Wait too long in the day and even the fragile South Pole sun makes the snow too soft to carve safely. But carving in the heavy furs is stiff work. No condensation gets into the oiled fur. No heat gets out. Worst part is she can’t lower her hood. Makes breathing the frigid air hard work. Pull it down and risk getting snow-shift down the neck when the snow-girls stomp around like Whale-seals.

She sweats as she tunnels away from the gossip of the snow girls. It’s not safe for the elderly, and the women of her tribe don’t like going below the ice. Tui and La dip from the sky into the water, not the ground. They scrape away the shavings before they can melt and refreeze, build the walls up. It’s heavy work that leaves them all exhausted, but Katara’s the only one who comes away half-frozen while the suns up. She’s the Ice Carver, the only girl no one cares to remember ever doing it.

The Tiger-Seal bone is hard to grip in her gloved hands as she swings into the solid wall of ice. To be an ice carver, they say your strikes must be hard and heavy to break. Hers are precise and fast so they slice.

Despite the voices above her, she is alone in the deep ice. Her existence is vibration, the echo of her own breath, and air so crisp and thick with her breath it feels like she’s swaddled in a quilt of Hawk-Bear blubber.

A new river of sweat runs down her neck, chaffing the necklace against her throat. She used to try and scratch the itch away, only for her mittens to paw futilely, irritating the area further. She still wants to. Even after four years, the sting of the chafe is a raw misery. She started at thirteen. Old enough to screw, old enough to crew. At least that’s what the men say to each other. There isn’t a mantra for Katara yet, and the works too hard for her to think of one.

“Hold. Hold. Hold!” It’s a few more swings before she realises Ulma is yelling at her. “Katara!” She’s above with the others, though she must be at the mouth of the tunnel if Katara can hear her yelling.

“Why the freeze?” Katara asks, annoyed. She doesn’t like being interrupted.

“Why the freeze, the little Ice Carver asks,” old Dakoda chuckles, and she can picture his white whiskers shaking.

“Shifts in the snow above you,” Ulma snaps. She’s the elder for the band of diggers. Third generation but still got the lung capacity to boss the girls of the Southern Water Tribe around in place of their missing warriors. “Hold. We’re scraping the snow before you collapse this whole sheet.”

“I’m swinging a club into the ice,” Katara calls up. “Course the snows shifting. I’ve got less than a sheet to go. It’ll hold.”

“A year scraping ice and she thinks she knows the shifts,” old Dakoda drawls. “Remember the words of our illustrious tribe. Patience and clarity. Be still like the water. Listen to your elders.”

Water thrashes, it roils. It breaks ships like Katara breaks limpet-snail shells. If the elders could do what she could, maybe listening would have its merits. But they are slow in hand and mind. Sometimes she feels like they want her to be just the same.

“I’m a sheet away,” Katara presses again. “If you think it’s the club doing the damage, I can just take off my mitt and-”

“No! No waterbending, Katara, you’re too inexperienced.” They’ll say it’s for caution. Katara says it’s their fear.

Sokka would tell her to listen to Ulma. Two years her senior makes him think he’s a sage, gives a swagger to his step like a warrior. He’s never known a battle, and, unlike Katara, father never let him see mother’s body.

“If the sun comes up and heats the ice before we get the bones in, then the walls will definitely buckle.” They’re less against her then they are her bending. Somehow, that hurts worse. “You’re being a cold-guts, Ulma!”

Silence on the other end of the tunnel.

Shouldn’t have said that. But she’s quiet, and Katara’s disgust grows against her will. Insult the woman, in front of the carving team, and she’s quiet as an arctic fox-owl. She’s scared. The woman was born hard as ice, but after the black snowfall she shivers when the suns up. Shivers from what? Fear. Fear of their conquering overlords, the Fire Nation? They came once, butchered Katara’s mother and a few of the men for good measure and haven’t bothered to come south since.

Her people, however much she loves them, are weak. They were left that way in the shadow of their greatest tragedy since the hundred-year war began. The people are hard as ice, yet skitter at their own shadows, afraid they’ll rise up from the ground and start firebending. But Sokka would have her believe they’re warriors; he would remind Katara to respect her elders because he counts himself as one. Even though she’s of age, even when her Declaring ceremony rises with today’s sun, even though she took on the title Ice Carver a year ago because he claimed he was too busy protecting the tribe to do it himself, he would say her “blisters have not yet become callouses.”

Finally, Ulma remembers she’s supposed to be in charge. “The ice isn’t stable.”

She will obey, even though it is as maddening as the itch at her throat. “Fine.”

She wonders if Ulma and Dakoda know how close she is. Probably. Probably just don’t ever think anything is worth the risk. Probably think the second Katara swirls a snowflake between her fingers, the Fire Nation will catch a whiff and come sailing down.

The Fire Nation rule this world. That’s the way things were and will ever be. The people of the Southern Water Tribe just try to scrape by in their huts, chewing on leathery seal-shark blubber, waiting for the men to return or their sister tribe to the north to finally reach out to them for the first time in a decade. No rising. No falling. Nothing worth the risk of ending this war. Katara’s mother found that out at the end of a cruel mans clenched, fiery fist.

Nothing is worth risking. Against her neck, Katara feels her mother’s necklace shift against the slick sweat.

Without the hall this foundation will provide, more of the tribe will have to pack themselves into their small, crumbling huts. Sokka will take on more night watches so she can have the space to sleep. He doesn’t know how her blood thrums with the rise of the moon. Some of the boy’s over-hunt the wildlife to try and build lean-tos of pelts and bones, stupidly going after the bigger games for bigger space.

She looks at the filmy wall in front of her. It’s already beginning to weep from the heat of her body.

Before she knows what’s what, she’s tossing back her hood, taking her mitten between her teeth, and pulling off the glove. Her dark skin slicks against the wall, palm flat. She waits for the cold to penetrate, staring at her milky reflection. Her father claims she has her mother’s eyes. Katara can barely remember. Breath mists between her and her element.

If she were a better bender, she could harness it, sharpen it into a new, better knife than the one her brother carves from walrus-bear tusks.

But sharpening is beyond her deep breaths, nor what she focuses on. The wall resists, so she searches out the water particles held captive in the ice, matches her heartbeat to their stillness, and gently tugs.

Nothing happens.

Then, the sheet of ice quivers, collapses into a wave and washes over her. She gasps from the cold, then laughs. “It worked! Ha ha, it worked!” She’s so busy basking in glory, it takes Ulma a few tries to shout her down.

“All right, Katara. Clear the chaff. The sun’s coming up. Bring yourself and that snow up or you’ll be late for your Declaring.”

Her Declaring ceremony.

Southern Water Tribe custom at its heart. They’ve never been as sticklers for tradition as their cousins to the north, but this one holds. Once a member of the tribe turns sixteen, they are declared a true member of the community on the first day of the spring season, old enough to work for its betterment. The war destroyed many of Katara’s tribe’s customs, and she missed her true Declaring due to a heatwave making her Ice Carving hours difficult to handle, but she was determined to keep hold of this personal treasure. It’s an individual, deeply rooted celebration of each life.

The Fire Nation’s war took much, but it cannot take away the watertribes sense of family.

Scraping the snow and her drenched body up the tunnel, Katara, dripping and bedraggled, emerges smiling as pink and peach world exhales, and the sun breaks the horizon.

~ ~ ~

Imprisoned 

Aang’s gentle tap starts her from uneasy sleep. She forgets how lightly he moves sometimes, so used to trekking across grass and the earth. His ability to pad across the metal would be disconcerting, if she weren’t so happy to see him, Sokka, and Appa floating above her beloved ocean.

“Your twelve hours are up; where's Haru?” Sokka leans as if the broad Earthbender were hiding behind her. “We've gotta get outta here!”

And her beloved ocean must wait for her return. “I can’t.”

“We don’t have time!” Sokka balks, waving at her impatiently as he looks nervously around. “The guards are everywhere. Get on!”

“If we stay here, we’re going to get caught, Katara,” Aang adds softly, unsure what’s happening, why Haru isn’t with her.

“I don’t care.” She squares her shoulders under their questioning gazes. “I’m not giving up on these people.”

~ ~ ~

Eleven Months Previously:

The Boy in the Iceberg

Gran-Gran brushes the snow from her hair, but no matter how many times she strokes, Katara knows her hair will be a damp, tangled mess for her ceremony. Still, Gran-Gran persists, the frost-irises sliding from her damp dark locks.

“I finished digging the foundation,” Katara mumbles half-heartedly.

“Hm?” Gran Gran’s fingers tie the irises in place.

“They’ll be packing the bones into the ice at this moment. If we bunked my ceremony, I could go make sure they’re not messing up my work.”

“Or you could hold still and let my poor, frail fingers work.” Gran-Gran tugs harder than necessary when Katara tries to protest. “Of all the days to dive the Ice, child. Would you have me needing to prey to the spirits for luck on such a happy occasion?”

“How lucky can they be? They’re all dead,” Katara huffs. She has all the luck she needs; it’s called her work ethic. Thanks to her, the members of her tribe will have a place to sleep by next moonrise.

She winces when Gran-Gran tugs a little too fiercely in an attempt to get the iris to stay. “Why do I need these frilly weeds in my hair? Sokka didn’t wear anything special for his Declaring. I should just bend the snow, do something no one’s seen before.”

“Throwing knives is a lot more impressive than throwing snowballs.”

“It’s not more impressive! I could throw the water and freeze it in the air. I could reverse the snowfall, slick the ground and fuse skates to the bottom of my boots. I could-”

“Can you do all that, Katara?”

Katara deflates. No, she can’t. She should, where else would she have gotten the impulse to try but faith in her potential? Bending breeds the innate creativity in her, but in her homes wasteland there is no place to explore it. But she could, with the proper training.

Gran Gran’s excessive tugging softens. “I am sorry, child. You know your gift marvels and amazes me. And it is a gift. Your father’s a fierce warrior, but he’s never known the snow like you. And your mother…”

Her voice goes frail. Kya may not have been her daughter, but Gran-Gran loved the mother of her grandchildren like she was. Sometimes Katara forgets other people are allowed to miss her that much.

“Gifts are not always given fairly,” Gran-Gran sighs in a way Katara is woefully familiar with. If she turned she’d see the worry, the apprehension her grandmother looks at her with whenever she bends. “You already stand out so much with that fire in you.”

“Gran-Gran!” Katara exclaims, disgusted at the notion. Do the others see her so repulsively?

“You do not hate the sun so much just because it burns. Hush. When the boys of this tribe become men, Sokka will join your father. You… you might want a companion in his absence.”

Katara’s nose wrinkles. She was twice the age of the youngest of Sokka’s ‘warrior’s in training’.

“I can see your reflection in the ice, Katara. I know it’s not what a beautiful young girl like you should hope for, but this war only takes. I won’t be around forever. I fear leaving you alone.”

Katara couldn’t bring herself to argue that she never feared being alone. Sokka wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “I know, Gran-Gran. Spirits guide us, in their own ways.”

She straightens, shaking out her head. The deep purple frost-irises slide, but Gran-Gran’s expert braiding keeps them hanging limp in her hair. She twirls to face her grandmother, giggling when she has to push a heavy, damp curtain of hair off the left side of her face. “It looks great. You’ve saved my ceremony.”

~ ~ ~

Imprisoned

It takes some convincing, some arguing, then because if there’s one sure way she can get Sokka’s cooperation, some smooth talking and delicate ego stroking. True to form, he comes through.

And she has to say, his is a stroke of genius. It takes almost the whole night to close off all the vents but one, and Aang’s filthy by the time he climbs out. They agree blowing the coal into the courtyard needs to wait until the prisoners are there to bend it, so Sokka and Aang hop back onto Appa, and Katara sneaks back to her empty cell.

The door squeaks open under her touch. But as she’s walking hesitantly back to her hard, cold pallet, she halts when no responding squeak says goodnight.

“So, you’re the one on the flying bison?” The warden’s shadow and pinched, satisfied voice engulfs her. “My men report seeing the offending animal fleeing from my rig, and then on the patrol rounds I find your cell empty. So, why exactly have you been out of your cell, young lady? Failing to incite anymore rebellions on my rig?”

Katara gasps, spinning around, almost bending the water from her rations on instinct. Fire Nation guards flood her cell before she can. The warden grins smugly as she’s taken to the ground. She struggles, thrashes, kicks. A meaty hand tries to pin her shoulders, slips upwards and grips around her neck. She bites on instinct and gets a slap across the mouth before she’s grabbed and dragged roughly back to her feet.

The warden gleams over her. “Want to try that again?” Katara glares, swallowing the blood from her split lip. “No? Are you quite certain?”

“You only capable of talking in questions?” Katara spits. A spot of blood lands on his shiny metal boot.

He looks down at it, back at her. “Ah, a hostile prisoner then.” He straightens. “Take her below. Something’s happening in my prison, I can feel it. Throw her in solitary then do a sweep, now!”

Heart and mind racing, Katara’s feet move under her without thought as she’s shoved along. Above the high prison walls the sun is beginning to rise. She can feel her power waning as the moon fades with the coming morning. Sokka won’t come back until he sees the coal, but Aang won’t spring the trap until the Earthbenders are woken in the morning.

The ocean thrums in her blood, but once she’s beneath the layers of metal she isn’t sure she’ll be able to feel it. She pictures it lapping against the rig, feels the vibration of the soft impact. It’s low, until she finds the tug in her gut and pulls. The water slaps the metal higher. She feels the spray in the air as she’s led across the walkway.

Come on Sokka, she thinks as she tries to harness the push and pulls. Impossible for her inexperience yet she tries until her knees go weak. See the water, see something’s wrong. I can’t keep this going much longer.

Push and pull. Push and pull. The sun breaks the horizon. It’s still cool but Katara sweats from the effort of creating a tide, pushing and pulling, battering the metal. Until she tries to pull the waves over the sides of the rig and it becomes too much. Her gut wrenches, too strong for her primitive understanding of her element. Katara gasps, collapsing to her knees.

“Get that girl back on her feet, now!” the warden snaps. But as she’s climbing back up the rig shakes, her feet slipping once again. “What in Agni’s warmth-”

A solid, black hurricane bursts from the vents. Chunks of coal bounce across the deck, ping off the guard’s armour. It rains down across Katara’s back, and with each stinging whack she smiles, knowing Sokka will come.

“Get her down below, now!”

They drag her down, knees scraping the floor. She can’t fight their strength. Never before has she summoned the ocean, brought it to her whims. It bought them time at the cost of her freedom. But Sokka will be on his way, the Avatar will lead the Earthbenders.

And she hears it; Aang inspires. Sokka stands his ground. Tyro, their fearless leader and his brave, sweet son, whip the Earthbenders into a frenzy so loud Katara can hear it all the way down in her solitary cell. Together, they’ll fight. They’ll win. They’ll come for Katara. Since the day she met Aang, he’s never let her down.

All she needs to do is wait, keep her faith.

~ ~ ~

Eleven Months Previously:

The Boy in the Iceberg

“And then you inhaled those flowers and sneezed pollen all over the elders!” Sokka guffaws as he paddles the canoe. Slumped at the back, Katara does her best to ignore him as she undoes the braids and drops the offending frost-irises in their wake. “And that caused Ulma to start. She sneezed so hard she headbutted the snow drifts. And what do you do? Come on, don’t leave me hanging, Katara.”

She glares at his profile against the stark, midday sky. “I slipped when I tried to salvage the disaster with a traditional water tribe movement of expression.”

Sokka howls, harsh and exuberant and so tickled by her mortification. It echoes across the open sea, bouncing off the floating bergs. “You know none of that would have happened if your hair was dry enough for you to tie it back?” He makes a pointed look at her now styled hair, complete with hair loopies. It was still wet, not that he would care to know.

“It got wet because I was clearing the ice for the foundations this morning. Something no one else could do, you know.” Her own pointedness makes his shoulders hitch up to his neck. Sokka hated sharing his duties as interim-war chief.

“Whatever. Prowl your dark tunnels. Means my baby sister isn’t going to be pawed at by some Northern envoy now she’s of age.”

He hides his relief in the mockery of their own tribe’s customs, and Katara’s never loved him more. “As if. I’ve been of age for a year, but there hasn’t been an envoy from the North since before your voice broke.”

“Okay, don’t go making me out to be some ninny-late bloomer. I was nine? Maybe ten?”

“So, it’s basically been a decade?” Katara frowns. Passages of time shift like the glaciers surrounding their home; chipping off bits at a time until a great mass breaks away. Where had the years gone? Was she really seventeen now? How has her dorky older brother almost seen twenty winters?

“Who cares? They got their problems, we have ours. I can’t waste my time preparing for envoys. I have to focus on protecting the tribe.”

Katara buries her snort in her parka, looking out over the side of the canoe. Protect them from what, running out of blubbered seal jerky? She becomes lost in the swirling water, so deeply fascinated by the simple machinations of her element she doesn’t realise Sokka’s stopped rowing.

“It’s not getting away from me this time.” From the corner of Katara’s eye, Sokka raises his fishing spear. She’s too caught up in her own fish to really pay attention. “Watch and learn, Katara. This is how you catch a fish.”

She doesn’t. Another’s swum its way to her side of the canoe, sloshing contentedly in the shallow space between deep and crest. Almost as if it were daring her. Chancing a glance over her shoulder at Sokka, deeply engrossed in his own attempt at getting their lunch, she peels off her mitten for the second time that day.

Her arm reflects in the chopping water, tracing the lazy circles the fish turns. Breathes slow; in and out. It’s not about the fish. Feel the water slosh and flow. Tui and La. In and out. All important things come in pairs. Her hand begins to move back and forth in time with her breaths. In and out. Back and Forth. Tui and La.

The water ripples, then plucks loose of the sea. The fish continues to swirl, unaware it’s left the ocean in a perfect ball of water. Katara gasps, quickly ripping off her other glove so she can hold the water with more stability. “Sokka, look!”

“Shh, Katara!” Sokka admonishes without turning to her. “You’re going to scare it away. Mm, I can already smell it cooking.”

“But, Sokka, I caught one!” Juggling the ball proves more taskful. Katara bites her lip as she moves the water, feeling like she was rolling a snowball uphill.

Still he won’t look, so she brings it closer. Too close, forgetting her brother’s total lack of spatial awareness in the canoes. Water truly was her domain yet seemed to love Sokka more as he draws back and bursts her bubble all over himself. The fish flips harmlessly over the side of the canoe to disappear back into the depths.

“Why is it that every time you play with magic water, I get soaked?”

“If I’ve said it once I’ve said it a thousand times. It’s not ‘magic’, it’s waterbending, and it’s…”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘an ancient art unique to our culture’, blah, blah, blah. Look.” He finishes shaking out his gloved hands and begins working on ringing out his wolf tail. “I’m just saying that if I had weird powers, I’d keep my weirdness to myself.”

Outrage was an ocean force inside Katara, swelling in her blood. “You’re calling me weird? I’m not the one who makes muscles at myself every time I see my reflection in the water!”

He pauses his flexing indignantly. “I’m taking a physique update, not making-”

The canoe lurches. All their years on the ice and they can still bicker their way into rapids. Sokka seizes his ore as the slim boat is pulled swiftly towards the jostling icebergs colliding and smashing against each other. Katara grips the edge, caught by the ridiculous notion she could pull the canoe to safety. Sokka paddles furiously, gaining speed until Katara thinks her sea-prune and gull eggs from breakfast are going to make a reappearance. Two looming bergs tilt together, but instead of swerving, he plunges them down into the salt spray. Katara’s end bounces as they skim through, the crash of the bergs ringing in her ears as they speed along.

“Left! Go left!” She isn’t aware she’s screaming, waving an arm in a loose suggestion of her commands.

The path narrows. Sokka rows but he won’t be able to get them out of the impending crash. So he veers them to the right in a desperate attempt to salvage the canoe. But, like Sokka and Katara before them, the ocean demands its catch. Three large chunks of ice pin them in. Sokka abandons his ore, reaches back for Katara, and throws them both out of the canoe, dragging her up by the hood when she nearly slips off. He keeps pulling until Katara can go no further, collapsing onto the ice floe face first, inhaling the fresh flakes.

“You call that… left?” she wheezes once she gets enough breath back. Water and ice floes surround them on all sides. Them, and a distinct lack of their canoe.

“You don’t like my steering? Well, maybe you should’ve…” He mock waves his hands in the air. “waterbended us out of the ice.”

Katara’s vision narrows. It’s only them on the floe, it’s easy to zero in on her idiot, insensitive, brother. “So, it’s my fault?”

Even cast in shadow from the floes around them, Sokka’s despicably smug face grates against her last nerve. “I knew I should’ve left you at home. You want something screwed up, leave it to a girl, especially a girl who can’t even get through her own declaring ceremony!”

She leaps to her feet. Oh, she fails at being a girl? Fine, she’ll slap that shit-eating smirk off his face like the man he wishes he was, arms swinging at him. “You are the most sexist… nut brained… I’m embarrassed to be related to you!”

And of course, Sokka couldn’t care less. It fuels her rage, arms swinging wider, hooking above her head like she’s trying to wrestle the air. And it appears to work as Sokka’s face morphs into one of terror. Good. She attacks the air with more ferocity.

“Ever since mom died, I’ve been doing all the work around camp while you’ve been off playing soldier! I go on hunts! I help build the huts. I became the first ever female Ice Carver! I even wash all the clothes! Have you ever smelled your dirty socks? Let me tell you, not pleasant!”

“Uh… Katara…” Sokka squeaks, raising his arms at her placatingly.

Her rage feels like it could shift the water beneath them. “No that’s it! I’m done picking up after you! You want to be a warrior so badly, then do it! I dare you! Stop pretending your fighting lessons mean anything to those kids and go out on your own!” she screams, before a deafening crack and a force of water knocks her off her feet.

~ ~ ~

Imprisoned

Through the rocking of the rig, the crashing and war cries of the prisoners, Katara holds on to her belief. Sokka and Aang will come. They’ll win. They’ll figure out she’s been taken to the lower prisons.

Through the cries to get to the ships. In the fading echoes of escape. As silence closes in again. Katara waits for her friends.

Waits. And waits. She waits so long, she doesn’t realise she’s fallen asleep until the door is being pulled back and a bleary, bald figure steps into the light.

“Aang,” she breathes in relief. But when the figure turns its head, something thin protrudes from the top. Momo?

“As you can see, my Prince, not all was lost when the Earthbenders fled the rig.” The warden simpers. He’s nervous, his smaller shadow fidgeting with thin hands. Katara’s too dehydrated and foggy to understand why. “While the Avatar led the savages mad dash back to the mainland, an escape we’re still tracking, might I add, we were able to hold onto one prisoner.”

“She’s more than one of your earthbending captives, warden,” rasps a voice Katara’s sure she only hears in her nightmares. Nightmares of flame and rage, where two molten suns glare from behind a scar. “Neither is she yours any longer. I’ll be removing the Watertribe girl from your custody. She’s the perfect tool to bring the Avatar to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know your thoughts and feedback because I would love to know if I’m doing a good job!! it would be greatly appreciated!! Reading all your wonderful comments keeps me writing as I plough on for Book Two. The input of my readers is incredibly valuable to me!
> 
> Kudos always welcome, likes, dislikes, comments and complaints. Let me know what you guys think because I love reading them and finding out about you guys!


	2. The Avatar Returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I've done Avatar justice.
> 
> Big Love, big reads <3
> 
> And Big Love to saltykittykat and labelleepoque for their lovely comments. I really wasn't expecting comments for the first chapter, considering our big two hadn't even met, but you two made my day!
> 
> This is officially a finished work which I will be updating once a week while I work on Book Two: Earth. Stay tuned!

~ ~ ~

Eleven Months Previously:

The Avatar Returns

Aang is everything Katara imagined of an airbender. Carefree as the breeze with an open, quick face. Quick to crooked smiles, quick to genuine laughs that tip his head back so far, his blue arrow disappears from sight. He’s joyful and sincere, no storm inside his lithe, agile body.

Naturally, the children of the village love him. He’s fourteen but basically a taller, gliding version of them. But it goes deeper. Over the few days he and his bison, Appa, rest, the elders nod their heads to his enthusiastic waves. The women on the dig team wave prettily back when he stops by during work hours. Katara’s chest swelled with pride the first time his face opened in awe as she emerged from beneath the ice.

“An Ice Carver? That sounds amazing. It’s so daring and brave, it’s incredible, it’s courageous, it’s… What is it, Katara?”

Every morning for the next week, he’s there. Her stories of being under the ice never change, but he’s wide-eyed and listening each time she recounts the few feet of ice she was able to carve through that shift. Ice Carving is a new phenomenon to him. When she first tried to explain he thought she was referring to swimming beneath the floes, citing how that made sense for her, being a Waterbender.

Sokka doesn’t like him, and she’s sure when he realises how much the young boys like spending their off time playing with Aang instead of practicing their spear thrusts, he doubles their training regime out of spite. How he loves to lord over Aang how his magical flying bison has yet to magically fly. When he found them penguin sledding for the fourth time, he was quick to derisively tell his flying sister joke again.

“You’re right, Sokka! She’s gotten so much better. The air she’s catching almost beats mine!”

Sokka scowled, huffing, “Great. You're an airbender, Katara's a waterbender. Together you can just waste time all day long!” before stomping off to go hunting.

Good thing he did. In the same breath of laughter, Aang asks why she never uses the snow to help her go higher the same way he does with the air. She’s so used to not being proud of her bending, Aang asking her so openly brings her up short. It’s no fun for her to talk about how lonely she feels in her own tribe. It’s worse when he suggests leaving to look for a teacher.

“This isn't right. A waterbender needs to master water. What about the North Pole? There's another Water Tribe up there, right? Maybe they have waterbenders who could teach you.”

“Maybe, but we haven't had contact with our sister tribe in a long time. It's not exactly "turn right at the second glacier". It's on the other side of the world.”

It’s hard being so different from her family. It’s even harder when Aang gives her the chance she’s been waiting for to go, and she knows she can’t.

Aang is young, but he’s wise enough to let the subject drop, and they go back to sledding.

Her days begin to pass quicker. The cold doesn’t bite quite the same. The warmth in her chest fuels her bone axe swings because she knows an afternoon of sledding with Aang, giggling with the children, and stories of a world beyond her pole waits for her. It gives new purpose to the work, fills her with a sweet ache as she realises she’d forgotten what the laughter of her tribe sounded like. If she were a powerful enough bender, she’d freeze time, put aside her own dreams and let her tribe live in this wonderful peace forever.

It all comes crashing down when Aang convinces her to explore the wrecked Fire Nation ship with him. He’d been obsessed with it the whole week, ever since he caught sight of it when they strayed a little too far atop their penguins. She knew going along with him was a bad idea, but the idea of him going alone was even worse.

Swallowing her fear, she didn’t try to stop him. This time she followed him towards the wreckage, hiding her shaking hands behind her back, blaming the cold when Aang looked at her curiously. He thinks he convinces her with some pithy spiel about bending being about letting go of fear. It’s because she’s afraid she goes after him.

It’s a horror straight from her nightmares. If she closes her eyes, she can smell the soot from the day they came. Not this ship. It’s older, clunkier. The metal’s so black and cold she’s afraid her skin will stick to it. The Fire Nation claiming another piece of her for their greed, so hungry, insatiable one-hundred years later.

“This ship has haunted my tribe since Gran-Gran was a little girl. It was part of the Fire Nation's first attacks.”

That’s how Aang learns he’s a hundred and twelve years old, learns everyone he’s ever known must be long gone by now. It puts the horrors of Katara’s own past aside, at least for a moment. For an instant he’s devastated, and she somehow feels responsible.

It’s that responsibility she holds onto, like a suit of armour, as she and Aang trudge wearily back to the village. The flare soars lazily through the sky, burning like a sullen coal behind them and turning the afternoon sky sickly yellow. She sees it and thinks bitterly of freshly sparked flames, sees her shadow stretching before her and gags at the smell of smoke in her memory.

Sokka crests the sea of angry, suspicious faces, but the children break in waves to rush towards Aang. He responds in kind before the glowers of the Tribe pull him up short.

“I knew it!” Sokka accuses, pointing at Aang. “I knew it all week! You watched, you waited, then you signalled the Fire Navy with that flare once you learned our defences! You're leading them straight to us, aren't you?”

The responsibility Katara feels for Aang drives her forwards. “Aang didn’t do anything! It was an accident!”

“Yeah.” Aang’s protest is weak. He’s built to dissolve conflict, not face it. “We were on the ship and there was this booby trap, and, well…” He rubs his head, reminding Katara of the child he really is. “…we booby-ed right into it.”

“Katara, you shouldn't have gone on that ship! Now we could all be in danger!” Gran Gran’s horrified. It’s sixty years ago, the sick yellow flare as horrifying now reflected in her blue eyes as it must have been back then.

“Don't blame Katara,” Aang begs. “I brought her there. It's my fault.”

“Aha! The traitor confesses! Warriors, away from the enemy. The Foreigner is banished from our village.”

Her brother’s eagerness to be rid of Aang makes her sick. It’s a selfish, vindictive piece of his soul. A piece she knows exactly why is there. “Sokka, you're making a mistake.”

And he knows she knows, if the nasty sneer he answers her protest with is anything to go by. “No, I'm keeping my promise to Dad. I'm protecting you from threats like him!”

“Like you ‘protect’ this village?” she spits. “Protect us from what? The difference between sun and snow burn? The turtle-seals out numbering us? Face it, Sokka, you protect us as well as the ice does! Stop hiding behind a lie dad told a stupid little boy who could barely lift his tiger-whale axe to keep him from killing himself and actually do something worthwhile!”

She’s gone too far. Not only does her brothers crushed face make her realise it, but it’s the way his boys shift uncomfortably before him. He notices too, face hardening as the truth hits home. He was never their fearless leader, their protector, their mentor. He was the oldest boy left in the village, because all the men were gone.

He turns his cold rage on Aang. “Get out of our village.”

But Katara can’t let this go. Sokka’s angry at her, not Aang, and he has every right to be. “Gran-Gran, please. Don’t let Sokka do this.”

~ ~ ~

In the end she doesn’t. Aang does, making the decision for her that she’ll never be a waterbender. He leaves on Appa, and even though she knows she should hate him for leaving her behind, she turns on her family. She yells at her Grandmother, throws Sokka’s consoling hand off her arm, and storms back to her hut like a child.

She doesn’t come out until the ice shakes beneath her. She’d felt the tension of the camp all day. Nervous murmurings outside her tent. Sokka stopping by only briefly to drop off some food before he rushed back out. She’d ignored it, too wrapped up in her own misery, until…

CRACK!

It rocks the deep roots of the glacier. Her hut rattles. Outside the tribespeople stare into the fog in horror. Sokka stands atop the wall as if he alone, face coated in warpaint, body wrapped in tradition and terror, can save them from the hulking shadow.

When last they came, the approach was a silent omen of black snow. They’d climbed the black shale in their metal, clinking armour. So disgusted with the world, they wrap themselves in their cold, lifeless metal. Now that metal splits their ice. The monstrous bow of the navy ship shatters the strongest force Katara’s ever known, pulverises it into cold mist before her eyes. The children can’t comprehend, screaming as their mothers flee from the wreckage. But to where? Where can her people go?

Its shadow descends across the village. Smoke and ash. Burning. So much burning, but the flames are somehow wet, fetid, and humid. But the sky is bright. She can’t see the flames she feels burning her from the inside out, and all she wants is her mother’s arms to hold her and tell her everything’s going to be okay.

But it’s not her screaming. Memory shatters. Wako, Sokka’s youngest student, wails where he’s fallen. He doesn’t see the crack the sharks tooth of the ship cleaves through her home, and before she knows it she’s running to him. Scooping him into her arms, she rushes to the tent Gran Gran cowers in and tries not to think about how she felt her heel slip into open air for that brief second.

Sokka does not move. She can’t watch that mist turn red, not after the last thing she said to him. “Sokka!” Hysteria grips her, chokes her cries. “Get out of the way!”

Raising his club above his head, Sokka buries his feet in the snow and lets loose a war cry their ancestors couldn’t miss. It’s what saves him. The snow crumbles beneath his weight. His cry chokes off into a surprised yelp as he’s pushed back the few feet which keeps his body whole instead of pulverized between metal and ice.

Steam hisses from the black monstrosity. The bow opens forward, a shark opening its mouth in another jet of heat. Metal meets snow, and the walkway sinks as the heat melts it. More steam hisses. It forces Sokka back but not away, standing bravely, stupidly, between his village and three mist cloaked figures making their descent.

Her eyes go to the scar first. Even from the distance the black metal puts between them, Katara can see it. Livid, ridged, and pink against pale skin, covering an eye she can’t make out the colour of. Ruined skin disappears under the pointed war helm of the Fire Nation, but she’s too afraid to take pleasure in one of their own getting a taste of their greed for himself.

Sokka lets loose another cry and charges, club aloft. Alone he sprints up a ramp filled with soldiers, the scarred boy at their head. Alone, his club is kicked aside and, without resting or resetting his stance, the scarred boy swivels, and kicks Sokka off the ramp with the disinterest of swatting a fly. It’s over quickly, Sokka’s indignant protests buried in the snow.

He passes to the right. Whatever he’s looking for is not there, somehow offending him. When he moves left, he stops directly in front of Katara. She’s not surprised the eyes beneath the scar are gold. Fire Nation only know greed; no surprise it composes their souls. She is surprised by how young he is. The skin of the left side of his face, of what she can see, is mottled and hideous. But his unmarred right is smooth and sharp angled, breaching manhood.

Both eyes burn disdainfully across the villagers. How eager are her enemies to turn their young so ugly.

“Where are you hiding him?” Unused to how the cold can steal the breath, his voice rasps. Katara’s ashamed of her flinch when his arm lashes out. She cries out as Gran Gran’s ripped from her arms, the soldier holding her up by her parkas hood. “He’d be about this age, master of _all_ elements?”

He shoves her grandmother unceremoniously back into her arms. Katara clutches her frail body, glaring with all the hate she can muster up at the invader.

He feels nothing, shows nothing. It’s eerie, especially when, without warning, the fire bursts from his hands. It whips the air above the villager’s heads, tearing another shriek from Katara against her will.

“I know you’re hiding him!”

He draws back to fire again, then rocks forwards. The metal clang of Sokka’s boomerang reverberates long after Sokka’s caught it, poised to throw again. The scarred boy has to fix his askew helmet, but when Katara sees his livid, gold eyes, she feels no victory for her brother.

Daggers of flame appear in the boy’s hands. Snow at his feet melts to slush as he spins dangerously to face her brother. Most of the war paints gone from Sokka’s face but he’s every bit the man their father knew he’d become as he faces the Fire Nation scourge alone.

“Prince Zuko,” barks a rockslide voice. Descending the ramp is the oldest person Katara’s ever seen, aside from Gran Gran. A once compact now soft from age frame is swaddled in robes, giving the man the impression of an upright, waddling Polar bear-dog. “In my vast experience there is one rule of investigation, and that is not to antagonise the locals.”

The boy scowls, but his daggers sputter out. Sokka, prepared for a bitter, outmatched fight, doesn’t know what to make of the old man. Unlike the vile boy glowering before Katara, Sokka does not threaten innocent elderly people, and lets him pass. He’s rewarded a grey ponytailed nod from the many folds of cloth.

“We came all this way, Uncle. I will not leave empty handed!”

“Did you bother to ask these people before you started melting their snow?” He’s comfortable in the face of his boy’s wrath, a smile on his face. “And by that, I mean, did you bother to ask them nicely?”

“It’s snow!” the boy snaps. "It doesn’t belong to anyone!”

“Would you say the same if these people invaded our sands? Swim against the tide all you like, but do not disgrace yourself by acting the fool, Zuko.”

Now Katara doesn’t know what to make of it. As far as her experience with invasions go, this is by far the most bizarre.

“Fine! We’ll do it your way!” The boy rounds on his waiting soldiers. “Round them all up, and do not let them talk to each other. I don’t want to give any of them a chance to corroborate their stories. A team of you will watch the children.”

“I will do that,” the old man volunteers, tone brokering no argument.

The boy knows to leave it alone. “If it’ll keep you out of my way, fine. Bore the children with more maxims of Sunblood for all I care, but do not let any of them out of your sight. I will lead the interrogations on these savages myself.”

~ ~ ~

Her home hasn’t felt so violated since she tripped over her mother’s body. Fire Nation soldier’s pulling back the seal skin for her, politely ordering she wait inside, throws rotten whale blubber over the happier memories of her childhood. Mother stewing sea prunes while she helped. Sokka would tussle with their father, and when he couldn't get his attention, try to heft the Tiger-whale bone spear twice his size and practice his war cry.

He would have made their father so proud today. He was brave, would have fought that vile Zuko knowing he was outmatched. Anything for his tribe, to keep his promise to their father. It's how she knows he's in his own hut now, telling them exactly where Aang plans to go, how he's getting there, what they can expect from the world’s last airbender. She wouldn't make it so easy. She'd fight, show Sokka what a true warrior does in the face of their enemies, show these Fire Nation thugs they can't come to their pole, shatter their ice and scare them into giving up the last hope anyone has of ending this war.

"Good, you're ready."

White light casts his broad, armoured body into shadow, throwing water over the fire of defiance Katara was stoking. Helmet under his arm, but she can't see the scar like this. It's there, she feels its presence more than the golden eyes raking her up and down.

Striding in without invitation, he sits across from her at the low driftwood table and sets his helmet beside his leg. Despite how much his steps clink, he and his armour fold with ease, legs crossing into lotus. As if this creature meditates. There's no peace where he's from. His kind devoured it a long time ago.

"Your betrothed told us everything, so don't waste my, or my men’s, time."

Whatever she'd been expecting, it wasn't that. "My betrothed? What are you - are you talking about Sokka?" Her face twists. "I don't know how the Fire Nation conducts its couplings, but that's disgusting. He's my brother."

His eyes flick down to her mother’s necklace before coming back up to hers. "My mistake." Without the helmet she can see how much the scar dominates his face. His left eye is a ruin, unable to open all the way, and thanks to the odd stylings of his bald head and black high ponytail, his mottled ear is on full display. Can he hear out of that thing?

While the left eye is permanently frozen in the suspicious, lidded gaze, the right joins suit. "It's rude to stare, peasant."

She's repulsed by her heartbeat of shame. Why should she care how this monster feels? Except she can't get an image out of her head, the last time her, Sokka, and their father had been together as a family. Sokka ran ahead of her, reaching Hakoda first. Their father's hand had cupped his son around the head, covering his ear as he pulled him close...

"I said, it's rude to stare."

"You said my brother told you everything?" she claps back at his snippy tone. He blinks, both eyelids working, nods. "Then your mistake, indeed. Sokka doesn’t know everything."

"He knew enough by the time I was finished with him." Katara glares at him. He stares impassively back. "You're not helping your brother or yourself. All you have to do is answer my questions, then my men and I leave your tribe."

“Until the next time the Fire Nation want to steal or terrorize the ‘lesser nations’.” She smile’s mockingly at him but it feels more like a baring of teeth.

“Nothing has been stolen from you.” She bites down on her lip. What about my mother, you spoiled bastard? But she owes this monster nothing and says just as much. “We show force only when met with resistance. We are no one’s enemy.”

“Of course you’re not.”

His lone eyebrow raises. “Who do you consider your enemy, peasant?”

“The Fire Nation,” she answers without room for hesitation. “So, you. By extension.”

“I don’t consider you my enemy. I wouldn’t have been so stupid to come here with such a small force if I did.” His smile is a white slash in a pale face. Without looking he plucks a discarded frost-iris from the floor, twirling it between his fingers. “As my Uncle said to your village, we are here to conduct an investigation.”

“An investigation you started by ploughing through our land and attacking my brother and Gran Gran.”

“As my uncle said this morning, the ice is white, the floes are white, the snow is white. I had never seen any of it until a week ago.”

She doesn’t soften as he intends her too. She doubles down, crossing her arms over herself. “It’s a miracle you didn’t kill someone. Good thing someone with a little more depth perception was steering.”

The ingratiating façade drops, his whole face contorting, scar wrinkling deeper into its own folds. “I don’t know why I expected more for a Southern Watertribe peasant.” He drips poison. “You will tell me where you’ve hidden the Avatar so I can leave.”

He can’t see her hands clenching and unclenching under the table. If she didn’t already have her own suspicions, she’d have given herself away to surprise as easily as her interrogator does to his frustration. Luckily, she isn’t ruled by hate, squaring her shoulders and tilting her chin up to meet his loathing eyes. “You’re looking at her.”

Sokka told him about Aang. She’ll tell him the other last thing he’ll expect to hear.

“You? You’re the Avatar?” He snorts contemptuously. “If you expect me to believe that, you’re more of a simple peasant than I-”

She sucks the snow from his armour, twirling it in a ball with her fingers over her palm. Only because it’s so small can she make it look easy, when, really, it takes all her concentration.

“Impossible,” Zuko breathes. He started back when she first bent the snow, hands lifting instinctively, sparks flickering at his fingertips. Now, he watches in awe, hands resting dumbly in his lap. The frost iris sits in his palm, purple petals stark against pale skin. “There aren’t supposed to be any waterbenders in the Southern Watertribe. The Southern Watertribe isn’t even supposed to-” He cuts himself off. “Bend another element.”

The switch of his own train of thought jars her, but Katara’s able to hold her own. “Do you know how long it takes to master one element?”

“You’re, what, sixteen?” She shrugs non-committally. “What have you spent your time doing?”

Katara allows her pride to shine through. “Working, princeling. You’re talking to the Southern Watertribe’s Ice Carver.”

“Ice Carver? What in Agni’s name is… do you mean Icediving?” Now, he laughs. “You? You’re the Icediver?” He found her revelation of being the Avatar less amusing.

“Is that so hard to believe? Why, because I’m a girl?” She hates how much she bristles under his mockery.

He shakes his head. “Not at all. Women make some of the best Helldiver’s in the Fire Nation.” She’s never heard the term before. “It’s hard to believe because no diver of their nation could possibly be so young.”

Curiosity grips her, dragging her head above the waters of discord she’s been trying to drown him in. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The art of Helldiving in the Fire Nation involves only the bravest, most skilled benders descending into the volcanos to harvest the Amber Phothenite, or Agni’s Soul, because it burns from the inside.” So does he, practically forgetting she’s there as he reminisces. “My uncle told me stories of the Helldivers, and their sisters beneath the ice.”

“What did they dive for?” Katara breathes before she can stop herself, leaning across the table. His superior knowledge of her culture should disgust her, but she’s too enthralled to care right now.

He meets her across the table, close and conspiratorial. “Pearls, according to Uncle. And treasures centuries past. Species the light of Agni never sees. He used to say there were whispers of people living down there, possibly the first Waterbenders themselves.”

Breathe stolen. Picturing it, the most powerful of her people. Coming from a Fire Nation princeling at that. She can’t bring herself to be disgusted anymore, but she can’t thank him for giving her a piece of her culture either. “I didn’t know that,” she settles on, because she hasn’t breathed since he started talking.

His head tilts towards her, breath fanning her face. She catches his victorious smile as it sharpens, turning her insides cold. “But if you were the Avatar, and you were a hundred years old, you would.”

He unfolds in a blink, leaving her stunned and stammering. “N-no. I am the Avatar. I can bend water.”

“And nothing else!” Zuko throws the table over and marches into her space. He towers over her, glaring. “You’ve wasted enough of my time. Tell me where the Avatar is and maybe I’ll consider not telling my father the South has been violating the civil-assimilations agreement.”

Heart hammering. Ribs aching from its beat. Sokka, Gran Gran. What would happen to them if it was known they’d been harbouring a criminal? What would those soldiers do to them when she was dragged away? What would they do to her?

“I…”

“Where is the Avatar?”

“I’m right here!” Aang meets Zuko’s shock with a cool, eerily flat, grey-eyed gaze. “Looking for me?”

He backs up as Zuko rounds on him, leading him from the confines of the hut. It allows Zuko a good look, and he’s clearly displeased by what he finds. “You’re the airbender? You’re the Avatar?”

“As much as you’re antagonising these innocent people.” Aang lifts his staff. Zuko matches, twin daggers of flame sparking from his hands. But whimpers from the watching crowd quell the anger in Aang before it can ignite. He sees the way the terrified eyes watch the fire which has done nothing but torment them. His staff flattens as he uses it to bridge the gap between himself and Zuko. “If I go with you, do you promise to leave these people alone?”

Zuko looks down at the peace offering. Like he told her, he’d never seen snow before, and each frightened face he sees, the horror, adds another footstep marring the pristine snow of his divine destiny. Few men truly like seeing beauty destroyed, so he accepts the staff Aang hands him with a nod.

Soldiers swarm the boy. He’s willing to go peacefully, yet they still wrench his arms behind his back, locking his wrists together.

Katara can’t stand idly by as they lead him away. “No, Aang don’t do this!”

“Don’t worry Katara.” Aang forces a cheerful smile as he’s shoved up the ramp of the ship. “Take care of Appa for me until I get back.”

She watches in despair as the Fire Nation lead him away, Zuko barking orders at their head. “Set a course for the Fire Nation! I’m going home.”

~ ~ ~

Black shale clips and slides beneath her feet as she paces. Sokka watches her. Neither of them has set foot on this beach in almost ten years, yet he followed her wordlessly down to the shore when she stormed off. They bicker, scream bloody murder, and drive each other crazy, but Sokka knows her mind better than anyone. Up the drifts and across the cavernous rift the Fire Nation ship left in their berg, the village puts itself back together in the melancholy wake of Aang’s capture.

“We have to go after that ship, Sokka. Aang saved our tribe, now we have to save him.”

“Katara, I-”

“Why can't you realize that he's on our side? He came back for us. If we don't help him, no one will. I know you don't like Aang, but we owe him and-”

“Katara!” She snaps around, mouth open to scream at him, but his sweep towards his canoe silences the words before she can think them. “Are you gonna talk all day, or are you comin’ with me?”

She’s hugging him before he’s finished gesturing to the boat. They almost bowl over together into the water. “Sokka!”

He’s just as fierce, pulling her off her feet for a few seconds. “Katara.” Pulling apart, he stares down at her. They know each other’s minds, but in his eyes is something she’s never seen before. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re… _you’re_ sorry? Sokka, why?”

“Because you were right.” Shame. That’s what she sees, and it kills a piece of her soul. As long as she’s been alive, her older brother has been the most confident, selfless person she’s known. And she made him think otherwise. “Dad left me here to make sure you had someone to look after you. But you haven’t needed looking after since you jumped down that ice hole and got to carving because no one else would. I could have left but…”

He rubs the back of his neck until she takes his hand. “You couldn’t have, because then I’d have been completely lost. You think I knew what I was doing? Let’s not forget who corrected my form those first months so I wouldn’t keep throwing my shoulder out. Or taught me how to properly control my breathing so the cold air wouldn’t give me frost lung.”

He thinks he has to justify his inaction. Really, she needs to remind him how much she needed, needs, him. How alone she’d have felt if he’d left her behind.

“What do you two think you’re doing down here?” Gran-Gran doesn’t step down onto the shale. It holds just as much bad memories for her, but it will also send the poor woman’s feet out from under her. So she and Sokka scramble shamefacedly back up. They both dwarf the hunched woman yet bow their heads. They both miss the smile, until they hear it in her warm voice. “You’ll need these.”

Their sleeping bags dangle from her crooked fingers. She hands them both to Sokka before taking Katara’s hands in hers. “You have a long journey ahead of you. It’s been so long since I’ve had hope, but you brough it back to life, my little waterbender.” Katara hugs her then, reluctant to let go. When she does, Gran-Gran turns to Sokka. “And you, my brave warrior, be nice to your sister.”

Sokka grins. “I will if she will.” But he softens at their grandmothers admonishing look. “Okay, Gran.”

Their Grandmother looks at them as if the last decade has lifted from her shoulders. “Aang is the Avatar. He's the world's only chance. You both found him for a reason.” Purpose swells in Katara’s chest. When she looks at Sokka, he stands three inches taller. “It is my only wish to see my grandbabies safe, but I must let you go. Your destinies are intertwined with his”


	3. Captured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I've done Avatar justice.
> 
> Big Love, big reads <3
> 
> I am so overwhelmed by the abundance of positive comments I received! The fact so many people liked, commented and left kudos for these two chapters alone blew me away!
> 
> This is officially a finished work which I will be updating once a week while I work on Book Two: Earth. Stay tuned!

“Where is the Avatar?”

The waterbender glares at him across the table. She wants to chew on her lip, he can see it in the way it begins to press against her teeth, the tips indenting through the dark skin before she reaches the split, winces, and stops. Whatever the Warden of the Earthbender rig allowed his men to do to her, Zuko mentally adds it to his list of charges against the man.

Instead of answering him, she gently prods the wound with her tongue. His eyes flick between the motion and her stubborn, blue eyes. He should have guessed as much. Good luck moving the tides to a ship’s whim. Good luck getting this waterbender to talk.

She hasn’t been allowed to leave the table since he brought her onto his ship. The chain connecting the metal caps over her hands thread through an iron ring. He had the manacles tailor made for the Avatar. Nothing can bend metal, not even the human tie to the spirit realm, power and destruction incarnate.

The cell, stripped of all ornament, decoration, and, most importantly, water, lies deep in the bowels of the ship. Four tons of metal stand between her and the ocean.

Zuko’s only just made his presence known, announcing it with the question as he strode in and parked himself directly in front of her. She sneered as he joined her, having no choice but to share the space with her hands shackled to the table.

She sneers now, the hatred ugly even on her exotically charming face. “Where is the Avatar?” he repeats.

She shrugs boyishly. “How would I know? He has a flying bison, and I haven’t been let out of this box for hours.”

“Days,” Zuko corrects, and takes pleasure in the way her face falls. A day and a half, technically, but the more alienated she feels from her friends the better.

“Days,” she practically spits the words. “Then I’ll clearly be of no help. Good luck, you can drop me off at the next port.”

“Drop you off for him to find?” Zuko raises his lone eyebrow at her. “Why add an extra step? If I hold on to you long enough, won’t he eventually find his way to me?” Zuko leans back in his seat. “Might be nice for a change. I can save my energy.”

“Won’t be enough to beat Aang,” the waterbender snarls. “Rest all you want. The Avatar won’t be beaten by the Fire Nation, and he definitely won’t fall for your slimy, dishonourable tricks.”

Zuko stands, swift and sharp strides taking him to the door. Before he’s finished slamming it behind him, his uncle’s voice is admonishing him. “Prince Zuko, it is rude to speak to a woman so inappropriately.”

“Some woman,” he mutters, stalking away down the corridor.

~ ~ ~

Eleven Months Previously:

The Avatar Returns

“You will not cross the sea by staring at the water, Prince Zuko.”

“That’s why we have a ship.” Zuko’s in no mood to listen to his uncle quote Sunblood to him.

The old man respected his colleague when they fought at the walls in Ba Sing Se, and still respects him long after his sudden departure. He always said the legendary Sunblood was a great man, it was why he was never at peace. Zuko knows that weight by proxy, years watching his grandfather, then father, rule a nation, watching them bend like the willow a little more each day. Barely twenty, Zuko wonders when his own spine will creek after he retakes his place in the courts.

His uncle is a good man. Good men don’t have to understand why great men sacrifice their peace so the good can remain so.

The endless blue water stretches before them, melds with the horizon. Ice borders their slow passage north, towering corridors disappearing into the sky on both sides. The Southern Watertribe sets at their backs with the sun. Agni’s light, how he wishes the poles would succumb and melt away. A month and a half here, and he can thoroughly say he hates the cold. Or, more than ever, he misses his home.

He misses the precise heat of the Fire Nation capital, how the welcoming breeze atop the Caldera can’t find its way between the bustle and bodies of the market proper. He misses watching fire lilies bloom with the sunrise. His throat burns with the memory of his mother and he drinking aged red spirits in her personal garden, stout tumbler for her while he was only permitted a finger or two.

He misses the turtleducks.

The purple frost-iris rests in his palm, a disappointing facsimile to the vibrant colours of his home. He’ll smile when it dies, signalling warmer weather on their horizon.

The men assigned to his command will twirl and jump with the setting sun tonight, in the boastful flips and cartwheels of the people they’re returning to. A people of raw strength, kinetic heat, and powerful movement.

Unlike his uncle with his treasured tsungi horn, Zuko will take no part in the foolery. He hasn’t danced since his mother disappeared.

Instead, he’ll be consumed by the disdain the watertribe peasants so readily greeted them with. He knew they would not be welcome, but the utter loathing surprised him. Fire Lord Sozin, his great-great grandfather, had a dream of sharing their Nation’s wealth with the rest of the world. Ozai has not yet completed it, nor reached this deeply into the poles. The fact there was a tribe at all to welcome them was a shock.

In his other hand he grips the airbenders staff. A hundred years old, yet when he tested it across his knee, the wood was supple as the day it was made, flexible like the ashroot Azula would swat him with as they chased each other through the palace. They’d have duels over who got to swing the switch by placing it on the ground between them and see who could charr the wood first, fighting to disrupt the others fire while shooting their own. Azula always won even when, as big brother honour decrees, he stopped letting her.

He’s on his way back now. Will she be happy to see him? Will father? Destiny would always bring him home. It was his choice to come wrapped in victory. Surely, finally, they’d smile at the sight of him.

Uncle opens his mouth. Bored, getting awfully close to irritated, Zuko spins precisely and strides to the bound boy surrounded by guards. So extreme on such a small child, but it’s been seven years. Zuko won’t waste another second on soft-hearted flights of sympathy. Uncle’s footsteps clink between the clonks of the staff on the deck, until Zuko stands it before the Avatar.

Zuko appreciates the wood again. “This will make an excellent gift for my father.” A round impassive face watches him. The blue arrow tip brushes the spot between grey eyes. Zuko isn’t sure which to look at, both so unknown to him. “I suppose you wouldn’t know much of fathers, being raised by monks.”

He blinks slow, imploring Zuko. “What’s your father like?”

It’s a spark of a question, simple and innocent on its own. But his innate curiosity, infuriating honest grey eyes, years away from home, and the damnable cold, combine and settle on the dry, frail kindling of Zuko’s temper.

“Take the Avatar to the prison hold!” he snaps. The boy is led away, but not before he looks back over his shoulder, as if waiting on Zuko for the answer. “And take this staff to my quarters.”

Without the staff, his uncle walks through the bowels of the ship at his side. “That was rather rude of you, Prince Zuko. If you are setting course for home, you will need to brush up on your decorum. Especially if the demands are as unassuming as that young boy’s question.”

“A question I’m under no obligation to answer.” His uncle is right, but Zuko is tired, and he knows he won’t sleep well for the last leg of his destiny. Excited? Scared? He won’t waste his energy figuring it out.

“I see.” Iroh ponders, hands folded together beneath his robe’s long sleeves. The ship metal acts as a good insulator for the heat running through the pipes, and he’s shed the many ridiculous cloaks he wore while placating the tribespeople’s children. “It appears I will have to take you back to the basics in all your training. I apologise, my manners at court were never smiled upon.”

“Neither was I. What does it matter?”

“It matters because we have the Avatar in our custody. Do you expect me to believe you haven’t thought so far ahead as to consider what happens when we return home?”

“Seven years is a long time, Uncle.”

His uncle grunts at the not-answer. “When you’re a wolfox, play the doehare. When you’re a doehare, play the wolfox.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “Sunblood never met a wolfox like my father.”

“Technically, he did.”

“And he deserted his nation and comrades in the middle of a war. I am returning with this war’s greatest criminal. How’s that for playing the wolfox?” They’ve reached Iroh’s quarters, thank the warmth which lights the worlds.

Zuko turns to look down at his uncle, the only person with whom his outbursts sit poorly in his soul hours later. He hasn’t liked himself since he saw the fear in those peasants’ eyes. Yelling at his uncle will sour him indefinitely. “I know how to face my father.”

“Whether he can face you is the question.” Iroh’s steely eyes soften for his nephew. “It’s something I hope he considers, as much as I know you do.”

They both know Ozai hasn’t thought about his son in years. Once Zuko’s messengers reach the Fire Nation, the only thing that will change is Azula’s bets with Ty Lee and Mai on whether or not he screws up.

He forces the thought away before it can fester. “Get some rest, Uncle. You rose with the sun today.”

“You never set.”

His uncles iron door closes with a soft click when he turns back.

~ ~ ~

Captured

The next time he approaches the cell door, hours later, Iroh stands between him and his captive. He moves to go around his uncle, but his way is barred by the stern expression and teapot pressed into his stomach.

“She’s been in there almost two full days, Prince Zuko.”

“And she’ll stay in there until I find out where the Avatar is.”

Iroh rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “She doesn’t know.”

“She says she doesn’t know.” Zuko fights off the impulse to make the same eyeroll. “Honestly, uncle, how did you interrogate your prisoners?”

Iroh proffers the teapot. “By starting a dialogue, not through parched throats.”

Zuko practically guffaws in his uncle’s face. “I am not bringing a waterbender tea.”

“You have the manacles on her, what damage could she do? Meanwhile you deprive that poor young woman tea because you fear what she could do with it?”

It almost works. Zuko’s about to swipe the pot from his uncle’s hands. He calms himself, scooches around, and enters the cell. The waterbender sits slumped in her chair, shackled hands limp on the table, chin tipped down to her chest as she snoozes lightly. He knows the neck crick she’ll have when she wakes, remembers the many nights he fell asleep at his desk studying the Fire Lords of the past in desperate bids to please his father with knowledge rather than failed Firebending techniques. He had his mother to ease him gently to bed.

It’s his ship, his cell, his chair and table. Yet, he hovers, feeling like he’s intruding on something as private as a few snatched moments of sleep.

“Please, keep watching me. It’s not creepy at all.” He starts. Beneath a heavy curtain of dark hair, sharp blue eyes and a slashing half-smile mock him.

“I’ll do as I like on my ship.”

“So, you like watching people sleep, or is the honour all mine?” Her blinks land heavy. She had been asleep then.

Focus on her exhaustion. Exploit it. She’ll get sloppy. He knows from many sleepless nights how awful the burden of the everyday on heavy eyes. So, he stomps as he approaches the table, scrapes the chair legs along the floor. She winces, fails to hide it, settles for chasing it with a glare as he flops into the seat across from her. When he addresses her, he makes sure his voice is twice the size of her.

“Your life, such as one belonging to a watertribe peasant is, depends on what you say.” He looks at the bruises under her eyes, traces the lines the bags make. “Do you understand?”

She slumps back in the seat, ostensibly belligerent. Her heavy fringe, dishevelled and falling from her braids, flops across her right eye. Under the table, he twirls his fingers until the sconces on the walls burn bright enough to penetrate the thick curtain, robbing her from the reprieve of what must be a stinging headache.

“The truth will be your only refuge. If I discern you are lying or being less than forthcoming…” He riots the sconces until she’s straining under the pressure of suppressing the obvious pain. “You can end this.”

“You need to ask a question,” she bites out.

Still a little too confrontational for his liking. Imperceptible to her, he deepens his breathing. Wrapped in her watertribe furs, she’ll feel the temperature of the room heightening. He waits until he sees the sweat bead at her temples, under her eyes. “How long did the Warden hold you before I came to the rig?”

“I don’t know when you got to the rig.”

He feels his eye twitch. “How long were you in the cell for?”

“You said I’ve been here a day and a half?” she answers, fake innocence oozing out of her when he glowers. “Oh, you meant the cell on the rig? Sorry, you’ll have to be more specific with your questions.”

“How long were you on that rig for?” he snaps but backtracks when he sees the wicked gleam in her eye. “No, not from your arrest in the village. But yes, from your arrest-” He breaks off, grunting in frustration, wishing he could slam his head on the table but for showing her she was succeeding in getting to him. “How long have you been separated from the Avatar?”

Her ocean eyes narrow. “How long have I been your prisoner?”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“It’s mine.”

“That’s not how this works, peasant.” He riots the heat in the room some more, enough even he can feel it, so covered in metal that he is.

“Isn’t it? Sorry, I guess interrogations are too complicated a concept for us southern coldies.” She sneers when his eyebrows go up. “Yeah, Sokka and I heard that little term of endearment during our travels.”

“Not from me.” Iroh despises the racism Zhao’s generation of soldiers gleefully fling around their ports and colonies, hated even more how they laughed over the ‘Muddy earthbenders making it so easy.’

She opens her mouth, but before she can call him a liar, she stops. Studies him. He hates it, her complete focus on his face. His arm tenses with the impulse to cover his scar. “Why did you tell me not to bend?”

“What?” Zuko snaps back into focus.

“On Kyoshi island.” It’s all she needs to say. He remembers it clearly as if it were yesterday and not the eight months it’s been since he’s seen her. “You warned me-”

“I know.” He can’t let her see she’s thrown him. But he never expected, wanted, this to happen. Not even to act on the reciprocity she’d owe him to further his destiny.

Her frown is pert and discerning. Curse her for having such a quick face. Quick to frown, to laugh, to judge. Where does a watertribe peasant get the nerve?

He doubles down on his efforts in an attempt to refocus them. “Where is the Avatar?”

“Why did you warn me?”

“Where is the Avatar?”

“Why shouldn’t I bend?”

“I told you what would happen if you did not cooperate,” Zuko warns.

“Prince Zuko,” a voice scolds behind him. He hadn’t even heard his uncle enter the room. “Give the poor girl a moment. She’s clearly been through an ordeal.” He holds up his teapot. “Would you like some tea, young lady?”

The waterbender nods, a little unsure. But she’d licked her lips the moment she heard the water slosh in the pot.

His uncle walks over and makes himself comfortable at the table. “My name is Iroh. I was once a general for my father’s army.” He winces self-deprecatingly. “Though I imagine that isn’t something you’d find interesting. Perhaps-”

“Does this have willow bark in it, uncle?” Zuko cuts off before his uncle can dig himself a deeper hole. They’re firebenders, she won’t find anything they have to say interesting. Except she’s looking at him curiously, as is his uncle. “For her head, and her lip, and I’m guessing neck.”

“Ah.” Iroh stands and heads to the door.

A moment later he’s carrying two extra cups and a sachet of deep purple ground up powder. He pours it into the kettle then holds the belly between his palms. Steam soon begins to hiss from the spigot.

“We’re all people in the end. Good to remember that. Even my nephew can think of things other than his chase.”

She locks back up, eyes narrowing as she watches the hot tea be dispensed between the three cups. “I’m not drinking that.”

Zuko roles his eyes, picks up his cup and takes a sip. When her scowl doesn’t lift, he drinks from the other two as well.

“Please, miss. End an old man’s worries by ending your own suffering,” Iroh pleads. “The willow bark will help.”

“Will it help with these?” She jangles her shackled hands.

“They don’t come off,” Zuko growls.

“Then I can’t drink my tea.”

“Pity for you.” Zuko takes an indulgent sip.

Iroh stands from his seat, picks up the third, steaming cup, and leans towards the waterbender. She’s wary, but the sweltering heat, dehydration, and her headache win out, and she leans forwards to sip the hot tea gently.

Once again, Zuko feels like he’s intruding on something private. A gentleness he can’t replicate. He has no problem leaving, though. The trouble with having a quick face is how easily it can give the owner away. In that sliver of his uncle interrupting his menace, she softened. Maybe she thought she’d gained an advantage. Maybe her pity weakened her resolve to be hostile. Either way, he seizes the advantage by leaving her to his talkative uncle.

Candles burn and dim in time with his breaths. He doesn’t stop the meditation as his uncle enters, finishing his last eight seconds of exhale before inclining his head.

“She told me her name.”

He makes Zuko ask. “What is it?”

“Katara. Her brother is-”

“Sokka, I knew that. She let that slip when I met her.”

“Did you know the Avatar’s name is Aang?”

Zuko frowns. “I’d rather not. He’s the Avatar. The target.” A target which happens to be a small boy. “What else did you get out of her?”

His uncle lifts an eyebrow. “It was one conversation, nephew. These methods take time. But you made a good step, offering the willow bark.”

He’ll make Zuko ask, but he won’t prompt him either. Zuko holds out for as long as he can, but finally can’t help himself from gritting out, “Did it help?”

He can hear the smile in his uncle’s voice. “You showed her some compassion. She’ll remember.”

Zuko knows. She remembers too much for her own good. But his uncle shows no sign of being subject to her specific line of questioning. Hopefully, she’ll be too off balance now to remember something so trivial as his concerns for her waterbending. It irks Zuko how he somehow wants her more on her guard, if it means he can avoid answering her dreaded question.

“Did she tell you where to find the Avatar?”

Iroh barks a laugh. “Were you not listening, Nephew?” Unlike his father, the chiding tone is not laced with disgust. “I’ve shared one conversation with her, and all I’ve learned is she is a shrewd, capable young woman. You haven’t even done that.” He holds up a hand when Zuko opens his mouth to object. “You’ll get nowhere as you are now. She obviously won’t be broken by tricks of intimidation, and any physical methods will only strengthen her resolve.”

Both Zuko and his uncle know they’d never resort to such methods. For once he’s glad they’re adrift, far from the traditions of home.

“You’ve started off rocky. Your training under Zhao is to blame for that, I should have done better to screen your tutors, but I was away at war. You will get nowhere treating her as you would a captive back home. Fire can be made, yes, placed where it should burn, the flames controlled to an extent.”

“I put her in a cell. I’ve set the fire.”

His uncle’s belly shakes with the force of his laughter. “You may have that girl in a cell, but she’s as far from fire as you’ll ever find. Flames without air will never light, and the sparks can still jump back to bite the hand. She is of the watertribe, Prince Zuko. Don’t be a fool and think you can move to ocean by force. Getting her to open up on her own is the slower method, but the only way forwards. Time is the only way this interrogation will succeed. Time, and whatever we can learn to get her talking.”

Zuko grits his teeth. Seven years of searching and he’s being stalled two steps from the end by a stubborn waterbender. For a girl who never shuts up, he can’t get her to tell him what he wants to know.

Except… when he told her everything she wanted to know.

~ ~ ~

Eleven Months Previously:

The Avatar Returns

He’s meditating when the alarms go off. Bursting up from his shrine, armoured legs propel him to the door. Wrenching it open, the bells and shouts of his crew flood his quarters.

“The Avatar has escaped! Close off the lower bulk heads!”

Zuko pauses, fingers wrapped around his quarter’s door. The Avatar’s still inside if they’re shutting down the bulkheads and sealing off escape. He looks to where the boys staff leans against his wall and knows where he’ll be going if not outside.

So, he leaves the door open and waits. Sure enough, the light pitter patter of an airbenders steps rushes down the corridor. Zuko fights the urge to spring out and meet him, but if his plan succeeds, the boy is his.

“My staff!” The Avatar rushes past his hiding spot.

Zuko slams the door, locking the mechanism into place. “Looks like I underestimated you.”

He fires before the Avatar can answer. Flames bursts from his fists in quick succession. He chases the Avatar around the room, shot after shot. His silks on the wall catch. His shrine shatters at the dragons’ mouth. Still he fires, roaring. This child cannot dodge him. This child cannot escape him. This child will not beat him!

He pins him in the corner, draws back his fist. The Avatar executes a flawless aerial spin, catching Zuko off guard. He pushes off his back with his foot and lands behind him, but no matter how much Zuko pivots and spins, he can’t get the lithe boy in front of him. The air scooter shreds his temper to the bone. As the Avatar whips behind his back he lashes out with his foot. A screaming arc of fire destroys the ball beneath the Avatar, throwing the child into one of the last tapestry’s left whole.

Zuko isn’t sure if he’s reaching for the boy or one of the last pieces of home. The Avatar disappears behind it, wriggling up the wall like a spider-monkey. He emerges from the top, grabs the tapestry off its hook and spins off the wall. Before Zuko can blink he’s cocooned in silk, arms pinned to his sides, and he’s watching the Avatar grab his staff.

The cloth disintegrates with the barest of flames. The boy points his staff, but a flimsy piece of wood won’t stop Zuko from repaying the boy for the destroyed art of his home. He cocks his arms back. The boy swings his staff as Zuko rushes in. Without moving from his spot, the Avatar takes Zuko off his feet. He can’t tell where the blow came from, only that he’s being slammed into the wall by something soft. He pushes against it, fighting to get away, and realises it’s his bed right before the Avatar swings again, and Zuko and the mattress are flung against the ceiling.

When he looks up from the treacherous bed, the Avatar his gone. His fist leaves a scorch in the mattress as he hurls himself up. Sprinting from the room, bouncing off the walls in his haste, Zuko races for the upper deck. All the other doors are closed. There’s nowhere else to go.

The Avatar’s in the air when he emerges. No thought goes through his mind. All he can see is the boy escaping. All he can hear is Azula’s mocking ‘oh, Zuzu.’ All he can feel is his scar throbbing.

He’s no airbender, but he puts all the strength of his body into the jump. Everything he is. He soars off the metal, arm outstretched. The Avatar screams as Zuko’s hand closes around his ankle. They lurch down, the flimsy glider too fragile for the combined weight. Zuko’s armour takes the brunt of the fall, and he’s rolling up with the momentum. Sick satisfaction fills him at the fear he sees as the Avatar stands to face him. Airbending is a new battle to Zuko, but he’s already won the important half. That’s right, fear the Fire Nation.

He roars and halts, eyes widening at the inhuman growl that seems to have slipped past his lips.

But the Avatar is suddenly grinning, beaming up past him, into the sky. “Appa!”

A beast unlike anything Zuko has ever seen crests the frozen walls around them. Six legs propel the wingless, massive thing through the air, shaggy fur whipping in a frenzy. “What is that?”

His question answers itself as the Avatar moves to intercept its path. No! Whatever that thing is, the Avatar cannot be allowed near it.

Zuko fires, violently, indiscriminately. Wave after wave burns into the Avatar. He grits his teeth as the boy disappears behind a wall of flame, but the screams remain. The staff deflects, swinging madly, delicate craftmanship struggling to keep up with Zuko’s manic rage. He propels himself into the air, crying out in surprise. Touching down on the ledge of the deck, he sways precariously over the side. Balance returns a fraction too late. Zuko fires, roaring, rage blinding him.

The Avatar will not escape him!

Hands fly up, but the fire finds its mark. Glider thumping to the deck, the Avatar disappears over the side of the ship.

Somewhere overhead, a girl’s voice screams. He thinks he might know that voice, but his attention is on the water. It settles as the monk sinks. They’ll have to comb the seabed for the body. He doesn’t want a bloated, floating corpse stinking up his ship on the journey-

The ripples reverse. Zuko, eyes widening, watches the waves form where there is no tide, watches the water froth, churn, and spit a towering colossus into the sky. It dwarfs his ship, a humongous spinning vortex putting his world into shadow. Glowing eyes appear at its zenith. They stare into Zuko, find the horror mounting in his chest and grip it with a glowing, tattooed hand.

Water swirls as the Avatar brings his hands behind his head. It forms a protective circle, spreading outward. Cascading over the deck, Zuko and his men are washed away. The edge rushes up to meet him. He can’t breathe, water flooding into his mouth, his nose. Vision filled with water, heart thumping. It’s all Zuko can do to reach out and grab the edge before he’s washed overboard.

The southerners run to the Avatar as he collapses to the sodden deck. Zuko cannot connect the frail child to the destruction seeking monster he glimpsed atop the whirlpool. No wonder his father wanted the child in Fire Nation custody so badly. Such power, in the hands of a child. The fallout, the destruction.

His soldiers regroup, closing on the three attackers. The girl, he does know her. The Icediver. She sees them coming and lifts her hands.

Watch her, you fools, Zuko wants to yell. But he’s struggling to get a grip on the slick deck. She pivots on her heel, lifting the water before his eyes and-

And whips it backwards. She catches her brother’s feet, and he cries out. This is the girl he’d been awed by in the tent? Her confident hold on the ball of water was flawless. Now, in leu of precise aim, she has to turn around to successfully land her attack, and Zuko has never felt so foolish. Tricked by a peasant!

He’s about to slip again when his uncle is there, grabbing his arm. The moment his feet are back under him, he’s up. “Shoot them down!” he screams as the bison takes flight from the ship, taking the Avatar with it.

He and his uncle may not be of one mind, but when they firebend, they are always of one body. In perfect sync they fire at the bison. There’s no way the bison can outrun the burst of flame. It eats the distance between them. Victory is so close, Zuko can taste it. The Avatar will not escape him.

Until the boy leaps from the saddle, swiping at the air with his staff and a fierce yell. Their fire is redirected, slamming into the icy cliffside, impact reverberating through the enormous glacier. His uncle blanches at the massive power, at the snow and ice crashing down onto the front of the ship. They’re buried, halted by a mass of snow and ice, and the Avatar disappears into the endless blue sky above.

His uncle feels the rage coming from him in waves. He’s hesitant. He’s also never held his tongue around Zuko’s temper. “Good news for the Fire Lord. The Fire Nation’s greatest threat is just a little kid.”

The crew will not dance tonight. Zuko has them shovelling snow until long after the sun goes down.

~ ~ ~ 

Captured

Zuko lets her experience the dispassion of his soldiers for a few days before he goes back to Katara’s cell himself. The evidence is immediately obvious. The front of her parka is covered in old and new stains from the less than gentle treatment of his soldiers feeding her and giving her water. The indignity has done nothing to soften her. Her eyes are ice as he walks to the table, cup of water in hand. He doesn't say a word as he comes around the table, but his grip tightens on the cup when she involuntarily stiffens. Closer now, he can see the stringy curls near her face, see how some stick to her cheeks and neck.

"Are you thirsty?" he rasps, mentally going over the soldiers he put on duty to guard her.

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Nods tightly, opens her mouth and shuts her eyes. He roasts the guards alive in his mind as he leans down. "Katara." Her eyes shoot open in surprise when her name leaves his lips. Carefully, so as not to startle her, he slides one hand along her jaw, and brings the cup to her lips with the other. She flinches, he knew she would, hence the steadying, pre-emptive, hand.

She gulps greedily at the water, sucking it down now she knows it won't be thrown in her face. A trickle slides out from the side of the cup when he misinterprets how quickly she guzzles, dribbling down her cheek and onto where his thumb sits under her chin. Absentminded, he wipes the water from her bottom lip as he withdraws the cup. The action starts her back to where she is, and she jerks back. It shouldn't sting. He pretends it doesn't.

"Your uncle did it better," she mutters when she's done panting.

"He was holding scalding hot tea. He had more reason to be careful." Zuko takes his seat across from her. He's never been good at segways or guiding conversations, so he comes right out with it. "Do you have tea in your tribe?"

Her eyebrow goes up. "Do we have tea? What kind of question is that? Of course we do. We're coldies, not savages."

She loves throwing that in his face, despite the fact he's never even said it, let alone called her one himself. "My mistake-" She interrupts him with a snort. "-I imagined you might have preferred Snowgoat milk." He waits. And waits. Her derision doesn't lift. Other than her hatred of him, he can't discern what's going on in her head. "You're old enough to have it fermented, aren't you, with frostberries?"

"Why would I want to drink spoiled milk?" He lips twist in disgust.

“Not spoiled, fermented.” Zuko shakes his head. “It’s like wine, or beer.”

“Don’t condescend to me, I know how wine and beer are made.”

He grits his teeth. “I’m not condescending. We’ll be stopping to resupply soon.”

“Do I get a tasting menu or is it just the rotten milk?”

She’ll never believe he’s doing something for her because he wants to, not when she knows he wants something from her in return. He affects a sulk and huffs down in his seat. “My uncle asked me to ask you.”

Some of her malice falls away immediately. He pretends that doesn’t sting a little either. All for the sake of capturing the Avatar. He has nothing to prove to this peasant.

“Oh... How would you even ferment milk?”

It’s what Zuko has spent the past two days studying instead of interrogating her himself. He won’t make that mistake again, but he thanks his diligent nature, remembering how she’d hung on his every word about the ancient Icedivers of her people.

“It takes a few hours, but the best takes up to a few days.” He dives into the process of how ancient watertribes would strap caribouram-hide containers to their mounts when they rode to keep the stirring constant. Today a wooden barrel and a churn would be just as effective, since the watertribes are not as nomadic as they once were. “It thickens and becomes Kumis.”

She shows no recognition to the word, but she doesn’t make any sign of wanting him to continue either. Or stop.

“Kumis itself isn’t that alcoholic,” he cautiously persists. He’d picked the easiest subject to parrot back to her and is probably over-explaining. But she hasn’t called him condescending again. “It’d be like having a small beer in an Earth Kingdom tavern.” She raises an eyebrow when he pauses. “Never had one of those either?”

“Haven’t had a lot of time between running for my life, dodging fireballs, clinging to Appa’s fur as we make a hasty getaway from our camp. I’ll be sure to try and sneak a half in though and think of you.”

He toasts her empty water cup sardonically. It’s a feat in itself when her lips twitch. “Kumis can be made more alcoholic, though.”

He dangles the bait. Dangles until he decides it’s a lost cause, a wasted strategy, and stands to leave.

“… How?”

She bites.

They take the table away on the fourth day. Katara can’t eat or drink with the chains locked to the table, so the chain is unhooked and she’s free to walk around the cell with her fists looped together. She claims the straw sleeping pallet, making sure Zuko has to take the floor if he wants to sit whenever he comes to give her water or bring her food. The chunks of bread, slabs of jerky and roasted vegetables are her constant – basically as far from moist and easy to juggle between the manacled cuffs as possible. She wrinkles her nose when he sets the trays in front of her but chews quietly as he launches into the day’s history lesson.

He’s astounded by how little she knows of her own culture. Of course, he knows why she’s only intimate with the last sixty or so years – he supposed that was the age of the elderly woman she clutched to her when he invaded her home. She loves when one of Uncle’s texts are out of date and she gets to correct him. Sometimes he gets it wrong on purpose, and inwardly crows when that victorious gleam deepens in her blue eyes.

When she one ups him for the third time, he brings the text and demands she point the inaccuracies out to him, for his uncle’s records, of course. If she cares that he sinks to the opposite corner and watches her absorb the words, she doesn’t lift her eyes from the pages to tell him to go away.

And when uncle runs out of texts for her to read, they happen to be docking at an Earth Kingdom city port. Zuko spends his leave hours pursuing his interrogation strategy. He’s exhausted from perusing the markets and shops, sweating under his hood to hide his identity, getting bustled and barged by the busy shoppers. But he has six more scrolls and texts to tactically feed Katara by the time he returns to the ship. He pretends not to hear his uncle point out he could have easily sent one of the stewards to seek out the documents instead of going himself.

Katara doesn’t know either way. All she needs to do is pour over the scrolls and accept a little more of his company with each one he brings.

Then, she completely floors him when he comes in, but she doesn’t reach for the scroll he brings this time. “You think it’s easy to sleep in this box?” The bags under her eyes have been getting steadily heavier, not that he cares to notice. “Read it to me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Read, sunshine. My eyes hurt. And it’s more fun to say you’re wrong than the text.”

Is the bossiness a good sign? He can’t tell if she’s comfortable enough to be playful, or if she really doesn’t have an ounce of respect for him. Not even after all the effort he’s put in to teach her her own tribe’s history – for his own exploitative gains, of course. But she doesn’t need to know that.

And by giving it back to her, he learns about ice hole fishing, hide tanning, bone carving and how fragile a task it really is. The texts detail migrating patterns of Polerbear dogs; Katara details how the species was once domesticated in the south. Now, thanks to the diminutive human population, packs roam and hunt the lands but none of Katara’s tribe dare go out to try and capture any. As a result, the once revered tradition of sled-polarbear dogs is all but gone from Katara’s home.

“Gran-Gran shared stories of her father speeding across the ice. His sled still sits in our family hut. Sokka used to sit on it and pretend he was one of the endless summer sledders. They’d transport goods between the tribes during the summer. The sun never sets during the season. Apparently, they could go snow-mad if they spent too long out there. Now, there aren’t as many tribes left on the ice. I have no idea how much separates us now. Too much for one sled team, I guess.”

He learns how tough aged tigerseal skin is to stitch, how best to render fat from whale blubber, how to apply that blubber to the skin to keep the cold out. Katara already knows this, of course, and delights on how clinical the experiences of the texts are compared to her and her brother’s escapades. Her favourite accounts are the star patterns.

“Tui and La are constants, in sky and sea. But the stars can shift, burn, be born and die. Don’t you find that amazing, Zuko?”

It’s the first time she asks him what he thinks. “Why would I?” He spends his visit listening to her tell him why it should be.

When he buys his next batch of scrolls he’s so hasty to keep the charade going, he doesn’t realise his mistake until he’s seated across from her on the floor, back leaning against the wall with the scroll open in his lap. He hadn’t been paying close enough attention. He was tired, frustrated by the busy markets again, craving the peace he’s come to find on his ship. He saw Watertribe markings, paid, and scurried off, and now sits with a Northern Watertribe betrothal ceremony in his lap.

He knows she doesn’t know this one. If she did, she wouldn’t mourn the loss of the necklace he has sealed away in a lock box in his quarters. She can question, but she can’t correct him. She can’t hold onto her edge, and he needs her to think it sharpens with each of his visits. But while her knives dull, his learn the nicks of her watertribe soul; what excites her, like the summer sledders. Makes her go quiet – anything linked to a story her Gran-Gran once told. It’s too easy to learn what frustrates her. The first time he started on war rights, she threw him out.

War would not be tolerated. Oppression would not be tolerated.

“Come on, Sunshine,” she mocks. It doesn’t bother him like it used to. “I’m waiting.”

Betrothal rituals. Doweries. Necklaces. All things he can see the romance in, the tradition and honour of it.

Contracts. Bribes. Collars and chains. The trading of a soul for money. All things he knows she’ll despise.

“Uh… Polarbear dogs, by nature, migrate. They need to follow the caribou herds, hunt and forage, before settling down for the long winters. They build their dens where they can best cluster for the sake of the pack and-”

“You’ve read this one,” she groans, rolling her head from where it rests on the pillow to stare dully at him.

He thanks Agni for his memory, or her monotony. Either way, his recitation bores her. “You’re mistaken,” he gruffs. The best way to get a rise out of her. “I would remember. Besides, the text is wrong. The packs head further from the snows in winter, not deeper. When the ice thickens, they can cross to Earth Kingdom main-lands and return before the spring thaws. Uncle and I actually watched it once while we waited for the pack to cross before we sailed through the ice. It’s similar to when the turtleducks in my garden would either fly south for the winter or hibernate in the coops.”

He expects, anticipates, her to praise his uncle. Maybe mock him some more. So typical of your people, little prince, to think nature is something owed to you, to break and repair itself rather than block your way.

“What are they like?” her small voice interrupts the one he can’t seem to get out of his head.

“What?”

“What are your turtleducks like? I’ve never seen one before.”

It’s the first time she inquires about something outside the South Pole. He has to remind himself it’s not really about him.

“Why haven’t you asked me where Aang is?”

She used to greet him with the accusatory question all the time, then grew eager for her history. But he’s been repeating himself, or letting her lead with stories, waiting for her to get bored.

He looks up from the scroll. She isn’t lying down this time like she usually does but copies his straight-backed lean against the wall. She’s more on edge than he realised. Has he really been so distracted during his strategy? “Because you don’t know.”

He cues the snort in his head as she delivers, shaking her head at him. “So, what, you’re just sailing around, hoping to find him?”

“Hoping he finds you.”

Blue eyes darken. A storm brews there. “I haven’t left this cell in weeks. You bring me trays to fumble at or lean over like a hogmonkey at the trough. I slurp water from a bowl, and your ladies in waiting have to scrub me then stare at me until they’re sure every drop of moisture is gone before redressing me.” She’s never been so exposed, favouring to lock the indignity of her treatment behind walls of brazen force of will. Give him her stoicism over this invasive vulnerability. Give him her hating him instead of adding to the hate he already feels for himself. “How do you expect Aang to find me while I’m kept in this pen like one of your turtleducks?”

He almost runs from the room. “Don’t you think people wonder why the Prince of the Fire Nation is buying scrolls about Southern Watertribe culture? Word will spread, hopefully to the ears of the Avatar.”

“You were buying them?” It’s not the question he expects. Neither did she, for a dusky hue overtakes her cheeks as she quickly backtracks. “You really think rumours will bring Aang to you?”

“Don’t underestimate the power of word-of-mouth. It brought me to Kyoshi island.”

They haven’t talked about Kyoshi island since she was brought to the ship. He sets the bait down, and waits, mentally pulls back. She watches him, takes in his narrowed eyes, the scar because everyone sees it first, lets her mind wander back to that encounter. Mentally sniffing out the bait, unaware of the trap behind it.

Yet all he thinks is spook. See it. Run.

“Why did you warn me not to bend?”

She approaches him as cautiously as he first approached her. Of course, hers is out of curiosity, not foresight. It’s how he knows he has her.

“I…” Say it. Make her owe you. It’s the next step. Do it, you coward. Damn the consequences. Damn knowing she won’t dare listen to another history lesson, let alone be able to look at him. It’s all about the Avatar. Everything he’s been through and done has led to this moment. Do it. “I warned you because it would have put you in danger if my soldiers saw you bend.”

Her brow furrows. Of course it does. She can’t imagine the horror coming. Who would want to? Only the Avatar could, he supposes. “They’ve seen me bend. I did it on your ship.”

“They think that was the Avatar. Either they were distracted or were frozen.” Zuko made sure they believed it was the boy. “They couldn’t know it was because of a bender from the Southern Watertribe.”

“Why?”

He swallows. He doesn’t have to say anymore. He’s expressed he acted in her interest before all this began. She’ll remember like she remembers everything. She’s a big girl. A big girl standing between him and the Avatar. His destiny. His honour. And all that makes him pause are, what, her feelings? She’s the enemy, who cares how she’ll feel once she knows the truth? Not like she can go anywhere. Not like the danger can reach her in this cell.

He owes her nothing.

“I told you, it would have put you in danger.”

“Why is it dangerous?” she insists. “Why, Zuko?”

It’s then he flees, stepping on the crumpled scroll as he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos always welcome, likes, dislikes, comments and complaints. Let me know what you think!


	4. The Warriors of Kyoshi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I've done Avatar justice.
> 
> Big Love, big reads <3
> 
> I am so overwhelmed by the abundance of positive comments I received! The fact so many people liked, commented and left kudos for these three chapters alone blew me away!
> 
> This is officially a finished work which I will be updating once a week while I work on Book Two: Earth. Stay tuned!

~ ~ ~ 

Ten Months Previously

Aang is devastated for days after leaving the Southern Air Temple. Naturally so, even when he tries to play it off, pretend he’s tired instead of drowning in memories and regret. Katara knows the all-consuming depths of failure better than anyone, so she knows to leave him alone, leave him an extra Momo peach because they’re his favourite, and wait for him to come out of the dark cloud Gyatso’s murder cast over him.

So, she throws herself into any work she can find. She helps groom Appa because she's sick of picking white hairs out of her stew after it somehow gets all over the cooking utensils. She plays with Momo because if he gets frustrated, he'll distract Aang with chatter or annoy Sokka. And she washes and fixes their clothes. In retrospect, her intolerance of leaving a job to be done by someone else or sit unattended only enables Sokka's opposite tendencies. If anything, he should be offering his help more. He has no boys to train, no village to protect. Her and Aang are more than capable of taking care of themselves, despite her limited experience with her own abilities.

Katara doesn't hate the work. In fact, she finds some of it soothing. Cooking and sewing were two of the last things her mother taught her. When she cooks it's as if she's talking to her again, imagining what wacky concoctions her beautiful, creative mother could be cooking up for the spirits. Yet, impossibly, Sokka gets even worse as his lack of duties builds up, and even the harmonic pass of needle through cloth can't stitch the fraying edges of Katara's temper back together.

Aang steers Appa. Sokka reclines in the saddle, watching the clouds pass them by as Katara works. Thankfully, he's being quiet. She's allowed to claim the responsibility of fixing his pants. He is not allowed to tell her to do it.

"Katara, watch this new airbending trick."

She hums, tongue clinched between teeth as she manoeuvres the needle through the crease where Sokka caught his leg on Appa’s horn. She told him to slide off the side, not try and vault over. ‘ _Warriors leap into battle, Katara, they don’t slide’._ If the battle in question is trying to outpace a cheetahlope across flat terrain, Katara would prefer he lose with one less hole in his clothes.

“That’s great, Aang,” she affects engagement as she decides to double-stitch.

“You’re not looking.”

She pinches the needle and glances quickly over before resuming. “That’s great.”

“I’m not doing it anymore,” she barely hears him moan.

“Stop bugging her, airhead.” Sokka waves Aang away dismissively in the periphery of Katara’s vision. “Girls need space to concentrate on their sewing. If you thought her waterbending needed work, wait till you pop the seam of your pants doing one of your little flippy-flips.”

Aang’s disapproving frown is a pale shadow to the sharp spike of Katara’s outrage. She’s used to Sokka taking digs at her waterbending. Before Aang, her understanding was limited but it was a part of her, and while Sokka’s digs were unnecessary, they were never cruel.

Fighting his backwards opinions of bending is a losing battle. “What does me being a girl have to do with sewing?” She asks, cold civility masking her irritation.

Sokka either doesn’t notice or feels the coming fight and readies his apathetic callouses. “Simple. Girls are better at fixing pants than guys and guys are better at hunting and fighting and stuff like that. It's just the natural order of things.”

“Look at that, I’m all done with your pants!” She throws them over his stupefied face.

He tugs them off, ripping the unfinished stitches, though Katara pretends not to notice. “Oh, come on, Katara. I can’t wear these, and it’s not like you have anything else to do.”

“She could practice her bending,” Aang offers, cautiously observing the volcano about to erupt that is Katara.

“With what, the clouds?” Sokka scoffs, despite the very valid suggestion – If Katara was a better bender.

“What a good idea, Sokka. I’ll use the clouds to practice my waterbending, Aang can use the air, and you can keep bagging on us to practice your jerkbending!”

Red darkens Sokka’s cherrywood hue. “You benders think you’re so-”

“Relax, Sokka,” Aang cuts through the building animosity with effortless cheer. “Where we’re going, you won’t need pants.” He doesn’t see how the siblings glare at each other behind him.

~ ~ ~ 

Sokka gets three more shots in about her, Aang, and a fish doing all the work, before the Kyoshi warriors put him in his place and Katara out of her misery. From there it’s a whirlwind of getting settled. The second the natives of Kyoshi learn of who Aang’s related too, if reincarnation counts as related, they go from public enemy to celebrity in a matter of hours.

Aang soaks up the attention of all the girls fawning over him, the warriors asking him about Kyoshi. Dessert for breakfast is his favourite. Sokka sulks, and Katara would be lying if she didn’t feel a smug sense of victory over his declining civility. If you asked her, Suki and the other Kyoshi warriors kicking his butt served him right. Now if only he’d stop embarrassing her with his caveman attitude and engage with the natives, Katara would consider Kyoshi island a refuge from the new pressures of life.

“I don’t know what his problem is, Katara,” Aang says around a mouthful of cake when she brings it up. “It’s great here, they’re giving us the royal treatment!”

But he’s noticed. She knows because his eyes follow Sokka’s back until he’s out of sight and his muttering has left the lodgings they’ve been given. “Hey, don't get too comfortable. It's risky for us to stay in one place for very long.”

Except, she’s not very good at following her own advice. She doesn’t even have to clean Appa anymore. In honour of Kyoshi, the people of her island see it as their civic duty to maintain the Avatar’s companion, giving Katara time to explore the beautiful mountain scenery while Aang’s busy being doted on.

But a day becomes four. Four days becomes a week. Katara loves the snow-capped peaks, loves ruffling through the white, crisp flakes and remembering home. She likes Suki and getting to talk to girls her age a lot. But they’re going to overstay their welcome if she lets Aang indulge too long. Sokka couldn’t be more excited to leave if she were to give him a direct line of fire into the Fire Nation capital and a bomb.

Only Aang is reluctant to leave. “Don’t you see how happy I'm making this town? They've even cleaned up the statue in my honour!”

She should be responsible, put her foot down. “Well, it's nice to see you excited about being the Avatar. I just hope it doesn't all go to your head.”

It does. She’s less surprised, more disappointed. She can’t blame Aang for basking in the attention, he’s fourteen and deserves to act like it for a little while at least. Once they truly set off for the North Pole, she knows he’ll put his heart and soul into his training. But the kind, thoughtful, perceptive boy with the big bald head she’s known the last few months isn’t acting like himself.

A finger jabs her shoulder as she picks her way through the fruit stands dried offerings. She’s decided, they’re leaving on the morning. Supplies at the house will get her point across. “Oh, good! Can you help me carry this back to the house?” She makes a show of pushing the pot over to him. “It's a little heavy.”

But it seems dragging Aang away from his fan club won’t be as easy as she’d hoped. “Actually, I can't right now. I promised the girls I'd give them a ride on Appa. Why don't you come with us? It'll be fun!”

She gives him her shoulder as she goes back to filling the pot. Watching you show off for a bunch of girls does not sound like fun.”

“Well, neither does carrying your basket.”

“It's not my basket.” She fills it to the brim, making her intentions for a long journey clear. “These supplies are for our trip. I told you, we have to leave Kyoshi soon. We’ve already been here too long.”

Aang rolls his massive, grey eyes. “Come off it, Katara. You’ve loved it here just as much as I have. If it were Sokka making the call, maybe I’d get it. But who says you get to say when we go?”

“Because one of us has to be responsible.” It stings more than it should that he’d respect Sokka’s opinion over hers. Then again, Sokka’s been spending all his free time with Suki, leaving Aang’s girls for Aang, and Katara to apparently become the unreasonable one. “You’re the Avatar, yet somehow I’m the only one who seems to remember your destiny of ending this all-consuming-war. I thought you said this Avatar stuff wouldn’t go to your head?”

Indignant, he puffs up, cheeks going red. “It didn't. You know what I think? You just don't want to come because you're jealous.”

“Jealous?” Now it’s her turn to scoff incredulously. “Of what?”

“Of all the fun I’m having without you.”

“That’s ridiculous.” She squishes a liliberry in her haste to end this.

“It is a little ridiculous, but I understand.”

And like a child, she storms off. Her storm continues to rage back at the house, and she’s only thankful Sokka’s still training with Suki so she can rage in peace. Until the rage burns away, leaving only an empty, thrumming in her blood. She needs motion, kinetic fury, so she decides to practice her bending. Maybe the soothing motions of the water will bring her back to herself. And it does, until Aang finds her again.

“Katara, remember how the Unagi almost got me yesterday?

She focuses on a spot on the wall, breathes, goes back to her bending. “Yeah.”

“Well, I'm gonna go ride it now. It's gonna be _real_ dangerous.”

“Good for you.”

His cheer falters. “You're not going to stop me?”

All she wants is for him to leave. “Nope. Have fun.”

It devolves quickly from there, both of them trying to outdo the other. (“I will.” “Great.” “I know it's great.” “I'm glad you know.” “I'm glad you're glad.” “Good!”)

The water sloshes her folded legs and, in a fit of rage she’s glad Aang isn’t around to witness, Katara whips the bowl away to smash against the wall. “Spirits on high,” she mutters. But as she cleans, she finds herself feeling better. Seven days she’s been without her usual distractions. Now, losing herself to the ministrations the same way she loses herself in her bending, her mind wanders.

“You have a fire in you, Katara.” Gran Gran’s voice sighs in memory. Katara misses her braiding her hair, tugging to let Katara know when she was being petulant. “You do not hate the sun because it burns.”

And she should not hate herself, even when she’s no better than a prideful firebending brute. Her stubbornness will not only burn her, but Aang and Sokka. Look how much she’s fractured their team already. She should be there for Aang, not push him away. He wants her attention, she isn’t blind. She needs to use it to keep him grounded, not deprive him the satisfaction of a job well done, even if it means watching him ride a stupidly large Koi fish.

~ ~ ~ 

But first, she needs to eat some vulturecrow.

It’s easy to find Sokka. Luckily the Kyoshi dojo is on the way to the beach. She skirts its edges, looking for the open door, hearing the exerted grunts and steps of two people inside.

“Sokka, slow it down. Moving through the movements faster doesn’t mean you’ll master them faster.” Suki sighs loud enough for Katara to hear from outside. “You don’t have to master it in a week, you know.”

“I need to master it sooner rather than later. Katara’s getting antsy. We’ll be moving on soon.”

“You’ve picked up a lot.”

“Not enough!”

Katara pulls up short right as she’s about to turn onto the open wall. Eavesdropping is a deplorable habit; one she’d never engage in usually. But Suki is the first person Sokka’s own age who he’s had to talk to in years. He’s opening up in ways he never would with Katara. It’s an underhanded, downright violation of his privacy. But if she interrupts now, he’ll never get whatever’s on his chest out there.

“Sokka?” Suki prompts.

“It’s not going to be enough until I can be useful.” Katara’s never heard her brother sound so disparaged before. “Aang is the freaking Avatar. Katara masters anything she puts her mind to, and she’s a waterbender. I lied before, Suki. I wasn’t the best warrior in my village, I was the only warrior… Katara saw right through me, so what happens if her and Aang need me and I can’t be there?”

She should have given him the apology he deserved weeks ago on the ice after she humiliated him in front of his boys. Now, a gaping pit opens in her stomach as she realises how badly she hurt her brother. So busy with Aang, trying to keep him out of his dark pit of grief, she never noticed how much Sokka’s own despair had been swallowing him up.

“If Katara sees you, then she sees how much you love her.” Suki’s words ring half-true. Katara’s never doubted Sokka’s devotion to her. It’s why he never followed their father into battle when he could have left years ago. But she’s done a piss-poor job of appreciating said devotion. “And she’s definitely seeing how much time you’ve spent practicing with me. I think she’s starting to miss you.”

“You think?” Sokka asks, perking up by his voice. “Sounds to me like you’re not a fan of sharing, Suki.”

That’s the Sokka Katara knows, and she practically hears Suki’s eyeroll before Sokka yelps, and the shuffling, thwacks and grunts of training start back up again. She knows she needs to apologise, but revealing she heard him be vulnerable is not the way to gain Sokka’s affection, and Katara’s tired of being the full stop on his good times.

So, she leaves him to Suki, heading down to the beach.

~ ~ ~ 

“Katara...” Aang’s voice is hoarse around his waterlogged throat. “Do not ride the Unagi. Not fun.”

She should chastise, but his smile is earnest, and he's breathing. The puddle she'd pulled from his lungs is already drying, a stain on the flat, costal rocks. When he hugs her, it's tight, with just enough desperation she knows he was afraid, if only for a moment.

It triples as the shore quakes beneath them, their eyes meeting before flying to the looming black shape dominating the shoreline. The sideways shark mouth of the Fire Nation vessel opens, slicing into the sand. From the bulwark descend not three armoured figures - Katara thought her and Aang could have stood a chance against that - but a herd of snorting, scaled, horned beasts. They shepherd their masters across the sand, bellies dragging, scoring up towards the village.

At the head, a scarred master snaps to his soldiers. "I want the Avatar alive!"

"Zuko." Katara's heard his name by now. The infamous banished prince of the Fire Nation.

Perfect. Blind hate is stupid and easily redirected. An enemy with purpose is much more dangerous.

"We have to warn the villagers," Aang whispers. They duck together as the procession lumbers past their hiding spot.

Katara nods, realises Aang isn't watching her. He looks worriedly towards the peaceful inch of golden Kyoshi crown peeking up above the trees. "Go. I can buy you some time."

He whips to face her. "Katara, no! Zuko-"

"Won't waste the time or manpower taking me back to his ship if he thinks you're close." She scoots closer, taking his hands. "Find Sokka, he's with Suki. You guys can get the villagers to safety. Sokka knows defensive strategy better than anyone." She's spent years watching him continuously update their villages precautions and defences. "Find him, tell him I'll come to him. He can do it."

Aang doesn't like it, even though she just rescued his reckless butt from the Unagi. Looking over his shoulder as he glides away, she waves reassuringly until he's out of sight. Comfortable he has a good enough head-start, Katara moves up the rocks bracketing Zuko's path towards the village, picking up loose bits of shale and pebbles as she goes.

Her first shot goes wide, swishing harmlessly into the bushes, but it brings one of the soldiers up short. "Did you hear that?"

Halting his mount gives Katara a better window. She doesn't like doing it, but she strikes the lizardrhino on the rear. The creature squeals and bucks. The rider goes flying from the surprise and, free, the beast disappears back down the path.

"Spread out!" Zuko barks.

The procession stops. Zuko is the only one to stay mounted, the others sliding down and spreading out across the rocks. Katara watches the scarred prince as long as she dares, heart thumping in her throat, trying to count how long they spend looking for her. When she isn't sure what more she can accomplish she begins to back away.

"Where do you think you're going?" Thick, hot fingers wrap around her wrists, bringing them above her head before she can think to whip them across her body, fend the attacker off. He grunts, laughs as she struggles, and hauls her onto the rocks. "Prince, Zuko! It’s the girl from the watertribe!"

Zuko brings his mount around, his good eye going wide. Lips move, she sees what she thinks is the word water before he slams his mouth shut. "Bring her to me!"

Katara doesn't make it easy, but she's the one sweating and out of breath by the time she's pushed into the side of the lizardrhino. Zuko regards her coolly, then nods his head.

"Get her up. We've wasted enough time." Well played, his golden eyes seem to say as Katara's gripped under the arms and hauled up.

Revulsion fills her as Zuko's legs bracket hers, his arms slipping under her own to get a better grip on the reins. She has to physically stop herself from squirming away when the motion of the beast rocks him into her back. But just as she’s about to say screw it to her plan and whip the ocean into a frenzy behind them, a voice in her ear rasps,

"I'm only here for the Avatar, but if you waterbend, you'll be in just as much danger."

She can't see his face. Only the pale skin of his hands, tense around the reins, show her an ounce of his sincerity. "What do you mean?"

"Stay out of my way and you won't have to find out." His breath hits her ear, harsh and restrained. "It's for your own good."

The day a Fire Nation scourge, let alone Prince scourge himself, has her good at heart is the day she bows before the sun instead of singing with her spirits.

Echoes of the joyful morning are stamped out beneath the long-clawed thumps of the lizardrhino’s charge. Katara grips the pommel of the saddle in front of her, fingers aching, as Zuko leads a desperate charge. She would not tell him where Aang went, what the village was like. So, he chose a full-frontal attack, and halts now in the centre, beneath the statue of Kyoshi. He regards it disdainfully, or that's just his face, before declaring his intent to the static village.

"Come out, Avatar! You can’t hide from me forever!”

“Aang doesn’t hide, but innocent villagers can’t match firebenders,” Katara hisses up at him.

He growls low behind her before barking to his men, “Find him!”

Komodorhino’s fan out into the village. Two disappear from sight while another three post up behind Zuko. Suffocating in the cage of Zuko’s body, Katara can’t turn, can’t see if Aang got everyone out. She’s lurched violently to the side when a yelp fills the empty village, but by the time Zuko gets his mount around, the three men are alone on the ground. Dazed, helmeted faces stare up at the sky. Komodorhino’s stamp and snort, throwing up flurries.

A flash of green brightens Katara’s peripheries. Zuko’s mount lurches again. This time Katara watches a Kyoshi warrior land before a Komodorhino. The animal rears as her fan snaps open. Abandoning control of the animal, the rider stabs at the warrior, but she moves right, under the jab and with a flick of her fan disarms the soldier. A swift, spinning kick knocks man from mount.

Suki appears around the back of the mount. Blocking Katara in, Zuko’s arms raise. Fists punch the air, fire rips past Katara’s head. Suki rolls under the first, leaps the second. She’s in the air, fan aimed for Zuko’s head, when he whips the mount around. A meaty thud slaps Suki from the air.

“You missed,” Zuko sneers behind a simmering fist.

Pushing herself off the ground, Suki smirks beneath her askew headdress. “Wasn’t you we were aiming for.”

“We?”

A heavy thwack, then Katara’s ripped from the saddle as Zuko cries out. But another voice permeates the chaotic fray. “Get your filthy firebending hands off my sister!”

A hand, gentler than before, pulls her to her feet. A painted face sweeps over her, but her brother’s deep, dark eyes shine through. “I’m okay,” she gasps, grinning, caught between throwing her arms around him and laughing. “Nice tackle. I knew you’d show up.”

Sokka grins. Behind him, Zuko’s mount dashes away, snorting and frothing at the mouth, and the prince in question is being surrounded. A flash of gold inside the helmet and, in a move Katara blinked and missed, Zuko spins on his hands. Flames shoot from his feet, driving the approaching warriors back. Suki’s scream drags Sokka away. He charges with a furious bellow, but Zuko spins again, sweeping his feet out from underneath him before he gets within arms-reach.

Katara’s on him before she can think. She knows her element and his are evenly matched, but they’re prowess at it is not. Still, she barges into him while he’s still focused on Sokka, sets her feet and lifts her hands.

Golden eyes bug. Zuko doesn’t bother igniting his hands. He closes the distance and grabs her wrists, pulling them down. “I said don’t bend!” It’s supposed to be her looking furtively around for the firebending enemies.

“So, you can win?” Katara wrenches away but he holds tight. “Let me go!”

“Let her go!” Aang holds his glider out in challenge, glaring at Zuko. “Over here!”

But Zuko hesitates. A fraction of a second, enough for him to meet Aang’s eye, then turn back to Katara. “Do what you want, peasant. But for the sake of your tribe, listen to me.”

Zuko charges towards Aang. Katara sees him pull a Kyoshi fan towards him as he rushes to meet Zuko before a cry pushes Zuko’s warning from her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos always welcome, likes, dislikes, comments and complaints. Let me know what you think!


	5. Exposed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I've done Avatar justice.
> 
> Big Love, big reads <3
> 
> I am so overwhelmed by the abundance of positive comments I received! The fact so many people liked, commented and left kudos for these chapters alone blew me away! Especially to labelleepoque, Leah_Rose_B_L002 and Amy+Pence. You guys made my week, you're amazing!

Zuko doesn’t come back. The scroll’s where he left it, slipper not even leaving a print. Her room is spotless since Zuko started bringing her water and meals himself, given it stays in the trays instead of thrown at her face. He even had his serving women clean her parka.

These thoughts are all she has to occupy her time now Zuko doesn’t come.

She will not miss it. She won’t. Not when he’s obviously keeping something from her.

Another one of his plays to find out where Aang is. She isn’t stupid. Interrogation isn’t limited to the Fire Nation. Jet pretended to care about her life too. Used her too. She has to commend Zuko to his commitment. Asking him to read the scrolls to her was a calculated test, and he expressed no pre-understanding of her culture’s tradition of Speakers to suggest a premeditation or darker purpose. When he read it was slow, stilted in the way a child understanding words for the first time puts sentences together, as he pieced each new bit of history and culture into comprehension. He even asked her to clarify some of it, earnestly taking in everything she could explain.

But her walls won’t be so easily broken down this time. Jet and Zuko are as bad as each other, doing what they want; burning, hurting. Whatever it takes, casualties be damned. Scavengers, both of them, and she wishes she could see Jet’s face as she lumps him with the little Fire Nation prince.

Zuko wouldn’t even ask who Jet is.

~ ~ ~

Six Months Previously:

Jet

_Katara has known the tender heat of the sun, it’s soft fingers on her skin. She has known the inner-melting of hot food, lovingly home-cooked spreading the gooey heat deeper into her bones. The flaring ignition of true laughter is a constant around Sokka and Aang. She’s known the sharp, napalm burn of strong spiritous alcohol, cooling into a low burn. She’s felt the soft fizzling of crushes in her youth that stark reality and grim responsibility quickly stamped out._

_Yes, despite being born of the ice, Katara has never been deprived of warmth._

_But the body next to hers, the arm a weight over her stomach, is a new warmth. It burns low, ignites before she realises. Like low coals, her gut shifts and sparks. Bursts of heat leave her light-headed. Flushes and lopsided smiles rob her of words. Molten eyes burn with a pain she’s all too familiar with, a flickering candle within her own shattered soul. He’s the flame, she the ice it reflects, casting a brighter glow._

_She isn’t familiar with this heat, and like the first fire she tried to light on her own, it burns out before she can be consumed._

Acknowledging Sokka's capability is possibly the worst mistake of Katara's life. Overnight her brother goes from moody man-child to bossy know-it-all. If he's not confidently taking them in the wrong direction, he's harping on about instincts, the trials of leadership, or mooning over missing Suki. Somehow, out of the three, his bemoaned whining about his love-life is her preferred option.

But she's seen now how much her opinion matters to him, so she makes her jabs as playful as possible, only striking for the ego when he gets out of control. Aang sometimes joins in, though the monk is so earnest, Katara thinks he's actually being sincere while she speaks sarcasm so thickly the poor boy can't tell the difference.

She didn't think Sokka could get any worse than grounding Appa before he walks them smack-dab into the middle of a Fire Nation camp.

"Let us pass and we won't hurt you." Sokka's voice trembles around the reverse threat.

"You’re gonna hurt us?" An eye-patched captain cackles until Sokka's face is the same shade of red as his ornamented armour. Those cackles are cut short as the man stiffens. When he topples face-first into the ground, a slim dart protrudes between two links in his armour. An impossible shot.

“How’d you do that, Sokka?” Aang gasps.

“Uh… Instinct?”

Metal flashes. A shadow slips from the canopy above their heads, swinging down as if an extension of the branches.

"They're in the trees!”

A young boy lands on top of a soldier charging Aang and turns his helmet around. Blind, the soldier thrashes, and the boy rides him and laughs. Arrows zip past anyone not in armour, expertly finding their marks. It’s all Katara can do to flood her target to the ground before one of the forest dwellers is helping her.

A huge boy drops from the trees, so massive it’s a wonder the branches could hold him up. He hefts a log like Sokka used to swing sticks when he played warrior as a child. He swings it through the soldiers, denting armour, bending steel, turning flesh and bone to pulp the way Momo does to Lychee nuts.

Surprise and momentum means the battle is over in seconds, and when the hooked swords bring their leader down, he strides easily into the swing. Right up to Katara, and smiles.

“Hey.”

Her cheeks ignite before the rest of her. “Hi.”

~ ~ ~

Exposed

Her thoughts keep her company until Iroh begins his weekly visits. Teapot tucked under his arm, he exercises none of the wall hugging, door squeezing caution Zuko obsesses over, walking in and letting the door leisurely swing shut behind him. She isn’t sure if Zuko knows about the visits, though she doubts much goes on without his notice. She hasn’t seen her old guards in weeks.

“How are you today, miss Katara?” As usual, Iroh regards her straw pallet with distaste, won’t give her cleaning corner his attention at all as he sets up the burner and trivet. He snaps his fingers to light the burner, but why he doesn’t simply use his bending to steep the tea, she doesn’t know.

“Bored, sir.” She likes to reserve all her flippant mockery for Zuko. Ironically, his uncle responds similarly to her respect, shaking his head.

“I’ve said before as I say now. Iroh, please, my lady.”

“I barely have a last name.” She is of the watertribe, that is honour enough. “I am no one’s lady.” It’s then she notices the board he sets down from under his arm. “Not just tea today?”

“It is my understanding you’ve been rather deprived of stimulant this week.”

“Not just this week.” She hasn’t seen the sun in weeks. Hasn’t felt ocean spray on her skin or moonlight in her blood.

Iroh understands with a heavy sigh but offers no empty comforts. He knows her pain. There’s a sense of loss in him, too. Much deeper than hers. “So, I thought, since my nephew has run out of scrolls, a new study could occupy your time.” He’s been setting the pieces out, methodical and without much concern. But the board is brand new, the pieces still shiny.

“Afraid I’ll break your board if I lose?” No doubt Zuko’s shared stories of her temper.

“You’ll be breaking nothing of mine.” Iroh smiles as his meaning dawns on her. “My lady, I have been playing Pai Sho longer than you’ve been breathing. Do you really expect to be even a challenge to me without practicing?”

She needs to learn the rules first, and spends an hour getting the basics down with Iroh’s gentle instruction.

“Do you know why I prefer the lotus manoeuvre, Katara?” Iroh asks after setting down his first piece in their newest game.

She can barely grip the basic stratagems. If he’s used the lotus before, she doesn’t recognise it. “No.”

“It requires patience. It emboldens gentle movements, a light touch, for lotus petals are extremely delicate. Not things opponents expect from a Firebender,” he says as if he knows that’s exactly what she’d been thinking. “My nephews touch is not yet so gentle. He has not yet grasped why I insist on brewing my tea with tools instead of my hands, so you can imagine I haven’t showed him this method of play. Yet, he tries. He continues to play, and he drinks my tea.”

Katara watches the old man smile, fond and sincere as he considers his next move. It’s for her benefit. It never takes him long to beat her.

“So, when he tries, he finds he causes more damage than he intends. I always try to impress upon him the importance of his basic training. Walking before he runs. Taking a moment to breathe. Destination, unfortunately, is his only aim. He forgets what he might step on along the journey.”

“So, by shrouding his behaviour in metaphors of flowers and tea, you think that excuses it?”

“No, my dear. But he has spent these last weeks learning so much about you, I thought you might like to gain an understanding of him in return.”

She bristles at his implication Zuko returning a history stolen from her was out of the goodness of his heart. “What I want to understand is why he deems it acceptable to chuck scrolls of cultural appropriation at me, but won’t answer my questions when his distractions prove unsuccessful. Why does being a waterbender from the southern watertribe put me in danger?”

Forthcoming Iroh hesitates. It isn’t until that pause between his inhale and his answer that real fear sinks into Katara’s heart. It starts as a trickle but, true to her nature, the flood consumes her the longer Iroh takes to answer.

“Zuko would prefer history be forgotten. He thinks it the best way to move forwards. It is an unfortunate trait of youth. Vanity and worth get too mixed up.” Perhaps unconsciously, Iroh rubs his hand down the left side of his face. “But I ask you, Katara, if history were so brushed aside, how could we learn from our mistakes?”

She hears how he seems to seek her permission, but for what she can’t tell. To reveal Zuko’s truth? To forgive him for it?

“We can’t.” she consents.

“It was before Zuko’s time,” he starts, desperate to preserve his nephew in some light to her. “Before Ozai and myself. Azulon, my father, was learning under Sozin. As you know, the air nomads were being wiped from the face of the world. The temples were only accessible via Sky Bison, until my father launched his first campaign in my Grandfather’s name. He used his dragon hunters to tame the beasts before their ultimate culling. They brought soldiers dressed in air nomad yellows to the base of the cliffs, where they scaled to reach the temples. I won’t bore you with the details.

“But my father did not stop with the air nomads. His subjugation of the smaller Earth Kingdoms was a bold first step, cementing his first foothold into the mainland. There he birthed the colonies, colonies we still fight to establish to this day under my younger brother. But Earth is not the only element we fight.”

“The Watertribes.”

He nods, moves a piece on the board. Katara didn’t realise they were still playing, while a weight presses Iroh down. He can’t seem to lift his eyes from the piece he finishes moving. “And that in itself was the problem for my father. Multiple tribes, too many to comfortably keep on top of. The North was the older, and, more important to my father, deeper entrenched in its traditions. They keep one half of their population from learning how to martial their waterbending.” For some reason he pauses, waiting to see if she has any comment. “A people half of warriors and healers is easier to control than a people of equal merit.”

The cold was her home, but ice penetrates her blood, spreads against her will. From under the board, Iroh pulls a slip of paper. It ruffles the way only a map can, folded back and forth so many times. Yet it is new, brought for her. He unfolds it now and spreads it over their board.

“So, he set out to make one out of two peoples. He sent his warriors south with one goal…”

Gran-Gran’s horrified face, illuminated by the sallow light of the ancient Fire Nation vessel’s flair, swims through Katara’s vision. Eyes glued to the map before her blur. The continents of the Four Nations sprawl before her, slightly wrinkled from the map’s treatment. Earth Kingdom villages. Air nomad mountains. Polar waters. She recognises the places she’s been, knows their names only because Aang shares his history as freely as the Fire Nation supress it. She ignores all this as her fingers trace the south pole. At the opposite end of the map, the North Pole is clearly marked, the tribe’s location inked rich in black. She lets out a long, low moan when she moves her fingers to find no matching name in the south.

Iroh’s sonorous voice echoes her mourning. “Extermination.”

The Southern Watertribe is gone.

~ ~ ~

Six Months Previously:

Jet

_“Katara,” a husky voice breathes against her neck as hips shift and grind together._

_Having an older brother means she knows the sting of burns. Cruel, outmatched snowball fights which left her half-blind, eyes burning and streaming tears. Sokka would grip her arm and rub viciously at the skin until she was screaming, her arm raw from the South Snow Sting, as he liked to call it._

_But this is a different kind of friction. One she leans into, learns to match. And suddenly a voice is capable of setting fire to a new, low, flame in her belly._

Jet plays with her fingers as they sit together at his feast table. Aang’s hilariously sandwiched between The Duke and Pipsqueak, laughing as the Duke makes sabretooth mooselion tusks out of roasted vegetable skewers and pretends to spear Pipsqueak’s massive chest. Katara holds his hand under the table, not wanting to draw attention to this flame they’re building. True, fire needs oxygen to light, but too much will blow it out. So, she smiles softly, delegates her attention, and blushes furiously when Jet steals a kiss on her cheek because he thinks she’s playing hard to get. The children Jet’s taken in toast him and celebrate together, and even Sokka’s sulking can’t dampen Katara’s mood.

“You really cause the Fire Nation a lot of trouble,” she hedges, wanting to her all about his adventures.

Unfortunately, massive Pipsqueak hears and leans his huge body over the table. “We've been ambushin' their troops, cutting off their supply lines, and doing anything we can to mess with 'em.” An intense gleam dominates his small, focused eyes. He turned those soldier’s heads to lychee jam with nothing but a stick and a lazy swing. Katara’s a little disappointed not to be hearing this from Jet, but she’s not going to be the one to tell Pipsqueak his story telling is less to be desired.

As if reading her mind, Jet waves Pipsqueak off before tucking his nose close to Katara’s neck. “One day, we'll drive the Fire Nation out of here for good and free the valley.”

~ ~ ~ 

Exposed

Iroh left her the board and map. It suggests a world slowly moving towards unity and peace under one name. It ignores the war-torn plains Katara knows; the homes she’s run from, the people she knows suffering under the oppression of the Fire Nation. She gasps at the grotesquery of it.

Her tribe lives, but no one knows. To the rest of the world, they are a footnote of history. Once a people, now a story. She thinks of all the people she’s met, told she comes from the South Pole. She’d said it with such pride, not knowing what a commodity she must have made. An endangered species.

Her life is a life.

Iroh explained it before he left. “My father’s raiding parties were given one task: Wipe out any threat to the Fire Nation. We did not wish the Watertribes to be extinct like the Air Nomads. Think what you want of us, but the death of an entire culture is not something lightly considered. But two forces on either side of the world is a tactical advantage my father could allow.”

“But they came again,” she whispered. “We worship the spirits in the sky, the moon and sea. Water gives life. Raiders came ten years ago. How would they know if this… This…” She could only stab at the map, at the snows were her home waits for her.

“Ozai is no fool. You might have had no benders, as far as he knew, but he would not leave a potential threat unsupervised.”

Her mother died because the Fire Nation needed to update its census. Bile rises in her throat.

“To the rest of the world there is only one Watertribe. Sixty years ago, my father wiped out over three quarters of the southern tribes in a bid to exterminate them all and drive the survivors from an inhospitable land. But the south pole is bigger than the whole of the Fire Nation. I hate to speak ill of the dead, so I shall say my brother is foolish for carrying on our fathers wishes. I… am aware of the last raid, ten years ago on the south. I was not aware the raiders lied in their reports.”

“They butchered most of the men before they left. They killed-” Iroh is kind, but kindness of one man cannot erase the atrocities of his people. He cannot have her mother. “Your hyenadogs probably thought the elements would take us. They were monsters.”

His face fell when her tears finally broke. “Zuko is not. Zuko didn’t know we would find you down in the south pole. So, you see, Katara, this is why he warned you to keep your bending a secret, at least until you travelled far enough from your home that no one would assume you came from the south. If my brother finds out benders can still be born in the south…”

~ ~ ~

Six Months Previously:

Jet

Jet takes his time after that, letting her get to know his brave boys and girls. He knows all their names, where they came from, and from the cold fire in his eyes, she knows he will never let them suffer as they once did ever again. She understands that cold rage and puts her hand over his when it chokes his voice.

He smiles, squeezes back, then grabs his cup and stands. Chatter breaks off immediately, all eyes of the Freedom Fighters glued to the firm, lank boy. Katara more than any. “Today, we struck another blow against the Fire Nation swine. I got a special joy from the look on one soldier's face, when The Duke dropped down on his helmet and rode him like a wild hog monkey.”

Helmet rocking on the table beside him, The Duke marches around the table with his hands in the air to the cheers of his fellows.

“Now, the Fire Nation thinks they don't have to worry about a couple of kids hiding in the trees. Maybe they're right.” He grins around the lip of his cup at the hearty Boo! “Or maybe... they're dead wrong.”

He sits back down to the cheers. When they fade enough for the normal chatter to resume, he tilts the half-empty cup down the table to her and Aang. “By the way, I was really impressed with you and Aang. That was some great bending I saw out there today.”

She isn’t used to this kind of admiration from a boy and is redirecting Jet’s praise to Aang before she can preen under his attention. “Well, Aang's great. He's the Avatar. I could use some more training.”

“Avatar huh? Very nice.” His eyes zero in on Aang.

Katara goes from flying on cloud nine to feeling like she doesn’t exist any more as Jet probes Aang across her. She’d be embarrassed at how badly she wants his attention back on her if she weren’t so upset that it wasn’t. “Did I mention how lucky we were you saved us from those soldiers?” she whispers against Jet’s neck.

He breaks off his conversation with Aang to grin up at her. “Maybe once, not that I’m complaining.”

“Good thing we were there to get the ball rolling,” she finishes with a teasing grin of her own.

“I can’t be the only one causing the Fire Nation trouble.” His eyes darken as he shuffles closer to her. “You might be as good at it as I am, but I have years of Fire Nation antagonism on you. That particular troop were part of a bigger company that took over an Earth Kingdom town a few years back.”

“Professional Fire Nation Antagoniser sounds like a lot of fun.” Could she count her encounters with Zuko as practice?

“It is,” Jet murmurs close to her ear, and she forgets the scarred prince. “Stick around and I’ll get you on your way. We might even drive the Fire Nation out of here for good and free that town.”

“I’d like that.”

The Fire Nation killed his parents. They took her mother from her. It’s not only his charm, his heroics, which draw her in. His pain matches the cracks in her own heart. His tears sting with the same salt she’s tasted a thousand nights when her grief overwhelmed her. When he takes her hand and presses his lips to the back, she goes with him. He kisses her in front of his treetop tent. Not a chaste, teasing cheek kiss, but one where she’s sinking into him. He’s threading his fingers into her hair. Whispering her name against her lips.

He takes her hand and leads her inside.

_Sleep thickens the grunt against her neck. Tan skin, light compared to hers, bunches at the base of the neck as the shoulders work. Jet rolls away, taking his warmth with him. She’ll see him later in the day once he and Sokka return from their secret mission, so she snuggles back into the warm embrace of blankets which smell like woodsmoke and trust._

Sokka sneers at Jet as the Freedom Fighter defends himself. Katara wonders if Sokka knows the bed Jet lounges on was shared with his sister hours before. She silently begs to Tui and La that he doesn’t figure it out, studiously looking away whenever Jet tries to catch her eye and smile slyly.

“If you could stop making eyes at my sister and tell them what really happened,” Sokka grumbles. Mission failed, and now Katara can’t face her brother without her cheeks catching fire.

“Sokka, you told them what happened, but you didn't mention that the guy was Fire Nation?”

“He conveniently left that part out.” Katara blushes and looks away when Sokka turns his glare on her.

“Fine! But even if he was Fire Nation, he was a harmless civilian!” But Sokka’s protests die in his throat when Jet slams the knife into the table, unhinging the hidden compartment and revealing the vile of poison inside. Desperate, he turns to his sister. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m defending a Fire Nation man, Katara. You know I wouldn’t do that unless I thought it was the right call.”

Her eyes flick between the knife and her older brother. “Explain the knife, the poison, Sokka.” Jet’s done nothing wrong, but she’s begging Sokka to give her the answer he wants of her.

Softer, he inclines his head. “I had your back on Kyoshi, ‘Tara.”

Her heart nosedives into her stomach. “Explain why he was carrying a knife.”

“There was no knife!” Sokka cries, but her eyes sliding to Jet in apology is the final straw. “I'm going back to the hut and packing my things. I’ll see you guys at Appa!”

She winces as he stomps past her. Not even Jet’s encouraging smile can lift her spirits, but they’re two matched, scarred souls, and he knows busy-work, feeling useful, is the best way to take her mind off things. “Tell me you guys aren't leaving yet. I really need your help.”

“What can we do?” Aang asks.

~ ~ ~

Exposed

Zuko was protecting her tribe.

Sitting alone in her cell, she feels outside of her body, as though she’s watching the scattered bands of survivors’ piece their lives back together. Ten years ago, the children of those survivors watched death swoop down again. Gran-Gran’s horror in the sallow light of the flair eclipses the quiet spaces in Katara’s mind. The gravity of history has drawn her people to the bottom. Worse, than the bottom. They are the dirt the other nations step on, not out of malice, but ignorance.

She isn’t supposed to exist. Sokka, her father, uncle Bato, Sokka’s wards protecting the tribe now. None have a glimpse of the horror Katara sees every time she looks at the map opened across the Pai Sho board. Sokka hates the Fire Nation more than Katara’s ever known a person to hate anything, but this is worse than even he could imagine.

“Sixty years,” she breathes to her empty cell. “Those snows belong to us.” Now she knows how deeply they are stained red.

How much more will they have to give before they can take them back from the hand that sits the Fire Nation throne?

Aang.

The Avatar can bring peace. But first the watertribe must be repaid the blood it is owed. The blood Katara is owed.

There’s a beast inside her broken heart. Sokka was right all along, as he trained his warriors. But it won’t come to violence. They’ve been wrapped in it their entire lives, so surrounded they couldn’t distinguish it from the norm.

Aang will be the voice that calms the fray. But before that comes the battle. Is that what Katara is to be? An avenging hand? She feels the rage, cannot reconcile it with the girl she remembers smiling with every fresh snowfall, who could giggle as the snowbear owls first flew from their nests. She thinks of her mother’s sacrifice. She thinks of Gran-Grans silent suffering so to spare the grandkids she thought ignorantly safe. She thinks of Sokka, her father, Ulma, Dakoda, Sokka’s young wards. Everyone she loves. She knows how hard they will live and how quickly they will die.

And now she knows why.

She has the map under her feet, shredding the edges under the soles. It’s not enough. Fuck this world. Fuck what it’s done to her people. With a scream she rips it down the middle, right through the poles. It tears something open inside of her, and she doesn’t stop ripping until the scraps make a snowfall around her feet. She doesn’t stop screaming until her throat is raw and there’s nothing left to shred.

Zuko stands frozen by the open cell door. It’s the first time she’s seen him in a week.

“What?” she spits when he continues to stare.

A clump that was once the Earth Kingdom sits on the toe of his boot. “So, you…” Know? Yes, she does. Can’t trust herself to speak again without crying though. Can’t do it in front of him. To her utter disgust, he doesn’t demand she does, just straightens and holds the door open further. “Come with me.”

She doesn’t move and isn’t composed enough to ask why. She hasn’t left this cell in almost a month.

“In light of our new strategy to capture the Avatar, Uncle has decided since you’re going to be with us indefinitely, you will be given quarters.” Except his voice fluctuates when he claims it’s his uncle who’s made the decision. As if he can tell she noticed, he hardens his face. “Your cuffs stay on, however. Bring your Pai Sho board.”

It’s too flat to juggle from the floor with her hands in the cuffs. He has to come in and grab it for her.

He takes her up. For a brief, heart-racing moment, she thinks she'll get to see sky again. She squashes that hope before she can imagine the night sky, the moon, and the waves beneath. Zuko would never be so kind, so stupid. And she's right. He leads her up two levels, then stops outside another door. A deadbolt has been installed recently on the outside, the black metal shiny and smooth, drawing back without so much as a squeak as Zuko unlocks it.

It's no bigger than her cell, but it's cosy enough to be considered a room. The first thing she notices is the bed. A real mattress lies in the corner instead of a thin pallet stuffed with straw. Above it a fire nation tapestry hangs, blood red and the only real colour to adorn the room. She gets amenities in the form of a low table and two flat cushions tucked neatly against the wall, an incense burner, and a deep bellied chest.

As usual, Zuko strides in without invitation and lays out her Pai Sho board on the table. "Your scrolls are in the chest," he says as he arranges the pieces.

"My scrolls?" He always took them with him after the lessons.

"I have no use for them. Unless you plan to rip them up like you did my uncle's map."

She glares at his back. "You really can't just say something nice and leave it at that, can you?"

"You'd accept anything from me without questioning it?" He snorts at her silence. "Exactly. We know what we are to each other, Waterbender."

Except she knows what he knows now, and he had to have had reasons for not telling her. Whatever they are to each other, their understanding of it is not mutual. Was it a tactful decision to gain some kind of advantage? But what could her continued ignorance gain him? When she looks at his scarred face, she can't reconcile it with a man who would do something out of the goodness of his heart.

Aang is the only one who can stop this war, and Zuko is trying to stop Aang. But his actions contradict his goals. He warned her and kept her exposure from the rest of his men - an act in itself a direct foil to his legacy.

So why tell her? No member of the watertribes knows the extent of the atrocities. Gran-Gran would have warned her before she left if that were the case. She can spread the truth now. Sozin, Azulon, his father. Their grand mission jeopardised, dependant on the fate of a watertribe peasant. Does Zuko plan to keep her on this ship for the rest of her life?

"What's your plan?"

Zuko looks up from the Pai Sho board. She hasn't moved beyond the closed door, capped hands heavy in front of her. "The Avatar has been spotted further inland, near the city of Omashu. It will take some time to sail to his location, so I deci- Uncle decided you may as well be moved here."

She catches the fluctuation but is in no mood to tease him. "Not for me. What's your plan for Aang?"

His good eye narrows. "Why would I discuss that with you? So, you can escape and scurry off to whisper in his ear?"

She rattles her bound hands at him. "As if I'm getting out of here. Your father is a dictator descendant from a genocider. What do you think he's going to do when you bring him a little boy? You're not stupid, sunshine, so don't pretend like you haven't considered it."

Except he pauses. He really didn't think his father would follow in his grandfather’s footsteps. "He won't kill him, if that's what you're worried about." The flippant way he says it stuns Katara. "He wouldn't work so hard to capture the boy, only to restart the Avatar cycle from somewhere beyond his control."

"So, in your perfect little world, Aang spends his life in chains." She rattles her caps again. "Believe me, it's not a life worth living." Except he completely ignored something she said. Ignored it or doesn’t understand what his own words imply. “Do you know the raids started up again?”

“What raids?”

“Sorry, what would your little Fire Nation schools call it? The Merging of the Watertribes? A Cleansing of potential insurrection?”

His good eye winces. “It’s called what it is in the Fire Nation.” He starts when he realises, she’s waiting for him to say it. “The Assimilations.”

“Assimilations,” she breathes incredulously. “Let me shed a little light: they butchered us, sunshine. They came into my home and burned everything they could to the ground. And they didn’t even bother to finish the job.” She hopes her cold burns him. “And yet, you sailed south in search of an old man. Why? There wasn’t supposed to be anything down there, not officially. What did you hope to find? Do they teach of the potential nomads left?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Or did some part of you think maybe the Avatar cycle had restarted? A waterbender would be next, and one tribe is easier to search than two. Was the heir to the genociders on his way to finish his great Grandfathers mission?”

Zuko’s horror draws him sharply back from her. “That’s disgusting!”

“That’s your legacy!” His back slams into the door. She wasn’t aware they’d moved, either. Chest rising and falling, Zuko stammers under her stabbing scrutiny. She gives no ground, gives him no cue. Whatever he has to think he’s defending himself, let him dig his hole with it. “Run back to the Fire Nation, little puppy, and tell your father to hurry up and evolve. The rest of the world is waiting for you.”

“I hope you enjoy the room.” Of course, he denies her the fight, slamming the door behind him.

She’s about to scream when the door flies back open. Zuko rushes into her space, too fast for anything but a bone deep flinch that takes her back a step. Except she feels no hand on her neck, or fire across her skin. When she opens her eyes, Zuko’s shameful golden gaze is focused on the key he inserts into one of her manacles, then the other once its clicked open.

He leaves with them dangling in his hands without a word and the echo of the deadbolt drawing closed.

~ ~ ~

Six Months Previously:

Jet

“You’re a lot more chipper this afternoon,” Aang comments as they work the water out of the geysers and into the river.

It’s true. She can’t hide how she feels lighter than air; she might even have skipped. Though she begs quietly to Tui and La Aang doesn’t ask her about it. He’s a sweet boy approaching manhood too quickly. Let him be innocent for as long as the world will let him.

“I slept well.” Not completely a lie. The time she spent asleep, she was sated and deeply under.

He grins, happily not ascertaining any double meaning from her words like Sokka or the other men of her tribe would. “That’s great, Katara. I’m glad to see you happy.”

“I’m always happy whenever I get to use my bending to help others.” She favours him with a soft smile, one that makes the young monk blush and focus on his practice. “Jet really is doing this valley a lot of good. Do you think once he’s won the battle here, he’d come with us?”

“Maybe.” Aang perks up. “You think The Duke and Pipsqueak would come too? They’re a riot.”

“They’re dedicated to keeping the people safe from the Fire Nation. If we share our mission with them, I’m sure they’d be honoured to offer the Freedom Fighters aid.” Katara sighs, thinking of how Jet will smile when they invite them to join the good fight.

~ ~ ~

Exposed

Zuko’s apology comes in the form of a modestly older woman appearing in her cell the next morning. She’s courtly to a fault, bowing to the much less presentable Katara with a polite smile. “Master Zuko has sent me to be your personal valet, mistress Katara.”

Despite herself, Katara is charmed by the pseudo-greeting delivered in the easy purr. She’s past prime age, and if she’s working on the banished princes ship, she can’t have been a lady of the court back in the Fire Nation. “Please don’t call me mistress Katara. Just Katara will be fine.”

The valet smiles. “Whatever my lady wishes.” It’s no better. “I assume your first request is for a bath?”

Katara knows she won’t be allowed the opportunity often, and not without supervision. She nods reluctantly and stands uncomfortably as the valet sets to work. She sheds her outermost layer of silks as she calls for water and towels, anticipating the affair to be awkward and messy, revealing a deeply intricate lily tattoo which takes up the majority of her chest and shoulders beneath a dark red uniform. The final petal inks delicately across the front of her wrinkled throat, and when she offers no name to a freshly scrubbed Katara, she thanks her as Lily when she departs.

~ ~ ~

Six Months Previously:

Jet

When Jet meets her eyes, it physically stings. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.” Cold. No hesitation. He doesn’t even think about all the lives he’ll take. “You would too if you just stopped to think. Think about what the Fire Nation did to your mother, we can't let them do that to anyone else, ever again.”

“This isn’t the answer!” She won’t show her betrayal, not yet, not in front of him.

“It’s the only answer!” he snarls back. “They asked the question with violence, and I answered!”

The soft boy who held her this morning, told her stories of loving parents in gaudy greens he can’t look at now without crying, is gone. Did he ever exist? Did those parents? “The Fire Nation didn’t do this, Jet, you did.”

“So did you. Don’t pretend you don’t want as many of them wiped from the face of the earth as I do, else you wouldn’t have helped me fill the dam.”

Was she such a walking wound that he could so easily pick the scab, force her open with some words here, a touch there?

She feels sick. Everywhere he touched she needs to scrub. Needs to freeze over and rip off her body. Her fingers throb where they bended the water he used to wipe out an entire settlement of lives. Like fire he is nothing but a curse, destined to cause destruction. His warmth was the water that boils the lobsterfrog alive, heating so gently the poor beast doesn’t even know its cooking until it’s too late. Stoked her pain, manipulated her inability to stop and remember the roots of her pain by focusing the single-minded energy into fitting his means, killing for his ends.

Like fire, she never should have trusted it.

“You’re sick.” She trips over her revulsion. “You used me to… All those people…”

“This was a victory, Katara.” Like that, he can wipe his hands clean, if they weren’t frozen to the tree trunk behind him. “The Fire Nation is gone, and this valley will be safe.”

“Say what you did, Jet!” Aang doesn’t understand what she means. He stares at the raging water, trying to comprehend what’s happened as the wreckage of lives streams past. Using her, Katara can forgive, but he’s stripped Aang of his last shreds of innocence. For that she’ll hate this injured boy until Tui calls her spirit back to the ocean. “You didn’t rid this valley of Fire Nation. You. Killed. Innocents!”

“There are no innocents. I rid this valley.” His eyes are cold when he meets hers. Nothing exists but his righteous war. Whatever she says, today was a victory. A step forwards in the war against the Fire Nation. Ends for means, or lives in his case. “Free of Fire Nation, and collaborators. The valley is safe.”

“The only thing this valley is safe from is you!” Sokka appears, standing atop Appa as the bison rises from below the cliffs. The beast’s belly is wet, fat droplets of water splattering the swaying grass.

Jets eyes go wide. “Sokka, you traitor!”

Her brother won’t look at the boy struggling against the tree trunk as he helps her up into Appa’s saddle. There’s no blame in his eyes for her, no I told you so she completely deserves. Could he hear how disgusted she was with the Freedom Fighter, with herself, below the cliffs? She doesn’t deserve his understanding but grips his hand as he begins to turn Appa away from this valley of pain.

“No, Jet. You became the traitor when you stopped protecting innocent people. If you ever did.”

~ ~ ~

Exposed

Her Pai Sho lessons continue in much more comfort, and this time Zuko doesn’t delegate her meals and water to the ships staff, unless he’s busy so Lily brings them in his stead. It takes him another week of aloofly bringing her trays, watching until she finishes the water, half her cup evaporating if he even thinks she’s going to bend the water, then leaving, before he lingers as she plays Pai Sho with his Uncle.

“Would you like a turn, Prince Zuko?” Iroh asks after he thoroughly trounces her. “You might actually win.”

Only Katara laughs. Zuko watches her warily instead of rising to his uncle’s bait. Time and mid numbing monotony have burned out her ambition to blame Zuko for all her woes. Well, no more than usual at least. She definitely hasn’t assuaged him of guilt. However, locked here with memories washed in a new shade of red understanding and her own determination not to be forgotten, what choice does she honestly have?

Zuko, in turn, has not asked for her forgiveness. The notion would be ludicrous. But they’re both stuck here, for want of a better understanding of Zuko’s situation, and he knows right now it’s not his uncle who should be offering he join. Only when Katara inclines her head in invitation, the first he's ever asked for, does he sit. Iroh vacates the cushion, despite Zuko’s insistence he keep it.

“No, no. I will go. I have been without tea for over an hour.” He waves the empty teapot for emphasis.

Zuko stands awkwardly as Iroh shuffles from the room, humming jovially. Katara lets him stew in it as she resets the board. “Well?”

He huffs and sits.

They’re equally abysmal at Pai Sho, and trade wins and losses across four days of games. That’s all they trade though, because Zuko doesn’t take being teased well, especially if he’s gunning to win and Katara undercuts his victory. The last resort company she once sought in him mostly returns, but there’s an irreversible shift in them now; he can’t distract her now that she knows instead of suspects the depths his Nation can go to. Ironically, it opens him up more to her. When he loses, either the match or the victors’ high ground, he goes moody and sullen. It’s even worse when he realises she lets him win when he does; brooding, moody Zuko is so much worse than stuck up, self-righteous Zuko.

“You have a sibling, don’t you?” She guesses out of the blue halfway through a match she’s set to win.

Zuko starts up from glaring at the board. “How did you know?”

“You’re a terrible loser. And because you get so stroppy when I win, I’m going to guess it’s a sister?” He glowers at her. “Okay, I’m definitely right. Older or younger?”

“None of your business.”

She leans back, having moved the table and cushions so she could prop herself against the wall. Zuko judges her slouch with a huff. “I don’t have to play you, you know. I’m sure Lily will be equal competition. If you’re going to be so obtuse, you can go.”

He glares when she flicks her hand at him. “If you want to know, guess for all I care.”

“Hm…” He shifts under her scrutiny. “No. I don’t want to play that way. Tell me two truths and one lie about her, and I’ll see what I can figure out.”

“I’ll tell you two lies,” he hisses, getting testy the longer she drags this out. “See if you can figure it out.”

“Fine.”

“Fine. She’s loving and kind, she always has my back, and she’s younger than me.”

“You think you made that hard?” Katara laughs in his quickly reddening face. “Oh, Sunshine. The first two are opinions, only the last one can be a fact. The last one was the truth.” She leans across the table. “Little sisters know.”

He sneers in the face of her victory. “Of course, you’re a little sister.”

“You already knew that. You want to play, give me a second to think of my lies.”

Confusion takes the place of his malice. “We’re already playing something, and your nonsense has no mindful advantage.” He sweeps his hand over the board. “Pai Sho trains the mind, teaches strategy and how to know your opponent.”

“I know you’re a sore loser who lost a lot to his little sister.”

Steam shoots out of Zuko’s nose. She always wondered if that was possible for firebenders. “Think of your lies.”

She already has, but takes an extra two minutes, pretending to think while Zuko steeps. “Sokka’s nineteen, I’m sixteen, and Aang’s the oldest.”

Zuko’s tension flushes out in a snort. “That’s it?” He shakes his head. “I expected better. The lie is the last one. The Avatar’s obviously the youngest.” But as his words float between them, and Katara’s grin widens like the owlcat caught the mouse, he realises his mistake. “No!” he stammers as she begins to cackle. “No, I mean, the first one is the lie!”

“Aang’s a hundred and fourteen years old!” Katara howls.

“By default!” The room’s heating up as the air around Zuko simmers. “It’s a technicality!”

“Another win for team little sister!” She cackles when he sends her Pai Sho board flying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed comparing Zuko and Jet's behavior's in this chapter, and how Katara can't seem to make sense of it all, who her enemy should be.
> 
> Kudos always welcome, likes, dislikes, comments and complaints. Let me know what you think!


	6. Starlit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I've done Avatar justice. And, I know, this 'episode' is early in the cannon. But, the tags do state this is a semi-timeline compliant rewrite.
> 
> Big Love, big reads <3
> 
> I am BLOWN AWAY! Over a thousand hits for Warriors of Kyoshi. Readership DOUBLED in a week! You guys are amazing! The fact so many people liked, commented and left kudos for these chapters alone blew me away! Especially to labelleepoque, Leah_Rose_B_L002, and Amy+Pence. You guys have made my week yet again, you're amazing! And a big welcome to Melek, idontreadheartbeats and kyaah. I'm glad I've been able to supply your desire for slow burn book one :D. 
> 
> This is officially a finished work which I will be updating once a week while I work on Book Two: Earth. Stay tuned!

When Zuko comes back the next day, he refuses to talk about their game. Striding in, plonking down, he starts playing before she’s fully woken up. He’s so focused on not reacting, on pretending the air of his tantrum still hangs in the stale room, he forgets to watch her drink from the cup.

Three moves in, he speaks. “What was the lie?”

“What was what?” Katara asks, brow pinching as she focuses on her lily play because he’s clearly trying to dominate with the moose-tiger fang strategy.

“What was your lie?” he repeats louder.

“Oh. I’m seventeen, not sixteen.” Her interest in ancient Watertribe Declaring ceremonies weeks ago makes sense now. Seventeen, so she must have had hers. He doesn’t react, just slides his piece into her lilies bud and severs the root when he switches the fangs for the claws. She frowns, wondering how she could have missed the obvious manoeuvre. He’s a sore loser, doesn’t mean she’s any better. “Your topknot looks weird.”

“You’d look better in red,” he mutters without much thought, but slashes her with a victorious grin nonetheless as he scoots her spent pieces into his hand.

~ ~ ~

Suffering Katara on the trip north isn't as bad as Zuko thought it would be. She still never shuts up, and each week he's subject to the next asinine game she's concocted to please her overactive mind while they actually play Pai Sho. But she's challenging without being spiteful. Competitive without the game being ruined if she loses. She never does grow out of being a sore loser though, or winner. But he's no saint either, and getting better at returning her verbal sparring matches.

Despite his backhanded compliment their first week, the red Fire Nation leisure clothes he sent remain unworn. According to Lily, relayed to him with a faint touch of amusement to the handmaiden’s usual purr, she prefers to keep them folded under her scrolls so the paper doesn’t erode against the hard wood.

He's never seen her in anything but the oversized watertribe parka or her pelts, but when you're surrounded by the ocean and firebenders, laundry isn't exactly a time-consuming task. Not that he minds. One consistent thing about Katara, she's not a morning person. It's a common occurrence that she's still half asleep when he comes with tea and a determination to beat her at Pai Sho, even if she has no idea if it's morning, noon or night in her modest accommodations. As a red blooded, hot tempered man of the Fire Nation, he won't do her the disservice of pretending he hasn't noticed she's pretty. He gets the chance to notice the further they sail from the poles and the ships running pipe insulation takes less time to kick in. She sheds the parka usually halfway through their games, until he comes in one day and it’s tossed beside her chest of scrolls. The loose tunic flutters when she drags herself over to the table, spilling over long, umber legs.

“How in spirits names do you survive this heat?” She’s not even set up the Pai Sho board this time, using it to fan her flushed face.

“Do you always complain this much?” Zuko responds behind a sip of tea.

She watches the motion with faint disbelief. “Apologies, your royal sunshine, months of repressing my own displeasures with the world. If I don’t let off some steam, I fear I’ll melt all over this lovely box.”

He raises an unimpressed eyebrow at her. He’ll get her dry wit whether he’s silent or not, so shrugs. “You’re the waterbender. Figured that’s what you’d want.”

“It’s unsettling when you do that,” she mutters.

“Do what?”

“Crack a joke without smiling.” He was joking? “Spirits, you look like one of the blank black depth demons of the Ever Night.”

They’ve read about that. “Ever Night, that’s a tradition of the North Pole.”

She favours him with a sideways look, then tips her head back to lean against the wall. When she speaks, her voice is soft, a thousand miles away “It marks the coming of winter; the sun cannot rise for the long cold months. Nor can it set in the Endless summer skies. Demons and spirits roam closest to our worlds when moon and sun gather their strength.

“ _What do sweet summer children know_

_of winters kiss,_

_nor the brittle touch of cold fire_

_to chests full of winter breath?_

_Though I did mourn,_

_when winters born,_

_on summers wings comes life._

_For two hearts beat in the endless sky;_

_summers love, winters strife._ ”

Zuko remembers to breath only when she exhales herself, a puff of weak, cold air from lungs missing those cold plains. “That wasn’t in the scrolls.”

Blinking, she looks over at him. “No.” She seems content to leave it there, but his unbearable curiosity must show. “It won’t be in any scroll. It’s a passage of Southern Watertribe prayer. The whole thing will be spoken on the ice. All our history, our stories, our prayers, are spoken first on the ice.”

“And written after?” He looks over at her closed chest.

“Not by us.” The notion doesn’t offend her, though. She shrugs it off as another part of life. He supposes without other cultures taking an interest in hers, she wouldn’t have gotten the chance to read those scrolls to begin with. “We speak, share stories. Trek the ice, collect more stories. Leaving the South Pole has shown me its limitations, but it’s our way.”

Maybe because it’s the first piece of culture she shares. Maybe it’s because he’s never heard her sound so mournful, opposed to the anger and righteous knowledge she loves to lord that her people remain peaceful in the times they live in. Either way, he doesn’t try to stop the words spilling from his mouth.

“We only pray to Agni.”

Katara’s blue eyes bug wide. “You don’t pray to any other spirits?”

“My father would like his subjects to believe only in Agni’s warmth.” He feels her eyes. Could see them if he looked, his right side facing her as always. “My father and grandfather before him believed our lives are our existence, our heaven. Why want his people to live for a hereafter when being fortunate to be born of the Fire Nation is itself a heaven?

“My Uncle, and many like him, hold fast to the spirits. They offer comfort, companionship, so uncle says. I’m… not sure what I believe.”

He’s a product of two ideological upbringings, he supposes. His father was strict. Only take Agni’s name, in vain or with resonance; he couldn’t care so long as no other spirit except the one who provides warmth is spoken in any regard higher than man.

But his uncle welcomes higher powers into his heart. “Uncle rises with the sun, so that when he feels the first touch of Agni’s rays, he remembers to be thankful for another day, and burn his prayer. He’ll take his tea making set out so he can burn it properly.”

“There’s a right way to burn something?” Katara asks with just enough spite for him to understand what she’s really saying and ignore it.

“Never burn a prayer to the spirits with your own fire, according to Uncle.”

Katara looks at his hands, at the lukewarm teapot. “Fire you create or fire from a tea set, what’s the difference?”

Zuko remembers asking that exact question himself, ten years old and wondering why his Uncle had dragged him out into the courtyards the morning of the summer solstice to wait for the sunrise. “When you can conjure something at whim, it loses its significance.” He snaps a finger. Flame spurts to life at the tip of his first before he cools it to a rich orange. “I wouldn’t be praying because I thought of a reason to be thankful, but because I wanted to ask for something.”

And whatever possess him to keep speaking, past his point, is beyond him, only that it feels true. “Fire is the only element which can be conjured from the bender. When I feel the sun on the back of my neck, I remember to appreciate that.”

He closes his fist around the flame, holding it there until smoke drifts between his clenched fingers. He waits for Katara to laugh, say it’s unnecessary, say firebenders not believing in the sanctity of the spirits doesn’t surprise her one bit. What do monsters have to believe in, after all, except themselves?

“We speak our prayers,” Katara offers. “But I suppose we have some written histories. But not like those.” She gestures to the chest. “They’ll be in a carving. Like this.” She empties the rest of the teapot into her cup, then reaches inside to scoop out the damp leaves. Zuko watches her fingers deftly scrape a pattern in the gunk. From where he sits, he thinks it looks like a wave breaking. “The shamans will carve their offering into the ice and send it to the spirits with a prayer. That’s the carving I made for my Declaring ceremony and gave it to the spirits through expressive movements.”

“What does it mean?” Zuko assumes it doesn’t really mean a wave.

Katara finishes her prayer with three fingers dragging the gunky mess until it fades like the wave is returning to the ocean. Her fingers are stained green, leaving light smudges on the table as she delicately puts the finishing touches in the water with her nails. Carving those intricate details into the ice must take hours.

“New beginnings.” She murmurs, mind returning to that day on the ice. “And how with every new day, we have the chance to be better than the one before.”

~ ~ ~

He knows he notices too much of Katara if she beats him three times in a row. Not because her long, toned legs distract him – most of the time – but because Katara begins to go… funny. Sluggish in her waking, less responsive to his wake-up calls and clever returns to her quips. Except they aren’t quips anymore because he’ll clap back with, “ _If firebenders are full of hot air does that make waterbenders frigid?”,_ and instead of shutting him down with her sharp wit she’ll throw him out of her cell for the day.

He can’t put his finger on it, not until she loses one day for the second time in a row and a sharp _fuck,_ punctuated by her hand slamming the table, can he see the tension in her shoulders, the bags purple and heavy under eyes. She hasn’t been sleeping, or if she has, it’s in the spaces between his visits.

His theory is proven right when she can’t get out of bed for their next game. Zuko’s used to her taking her time getting up by this point, so settles himself in his usual spot between her and the door to wait.

And wait.

“Are you that afraid of getting trounced?” He likes to think his trash talk has improved. Her groan lets him know she’s conscious, but she doesn’t so much as roll over. Stacked under her blanket, he realises she’s burrowed beneath the pillows too. He doesn’t care to put a name to the spike of alarm he feels in his gut. “Waterbender?”

“Nggmm,” she answers. Never. Never, does she let him see any weakness. Now she slumps as she rolls over. One wincing blue eye finds him amid the tumble of blankets and pillows. “Don’t be a dick.” He didn’t think he was. “… but it’s the cycle.”

“The… Oh.” Thank Agni’s warmth she’s already pulled the pillow back down before his pale complexion can give away the mortification creeping through his gut, or the flush rushing up his neck. “Okay, um. I have a sister. Her… She doesn’t- has never confided how she feels during this time with me but... I assume you’re having the cramps and-”

“Spirits, Zuko, no!”

“I understand that this is an unpleasant time of the month for women. I can get Lily to increase the maids this week so you can clean-”

Her pillow hits him in the chest. “One, you don’t know. No man knows. Two, it’s the moons cycle, not mine, you creep!”

“It’s not the same thing?”

She forces herself up, blanket a cone shaped cape atop her head that she keeps wrapped around her as much as possible. Free of her face, he watches her wince in the light, pull the blanket lower on her forehead so her face sits in shadow. The light’s hurting her, he realises. Not just her eyes. She’s wincing away, as if it stabs at her skin.

“Whoever told you women go crazy during the full moon was not your friend.” _Azula_! She always lies. Agni he’s an idiot for believing that was a real euphemism. “It’s a waterbender thing. My powers are linked to the moon and the water. I’ve barely touched water since I was dragged onto this ship. I haven’t seen the moon at all, and it’s going to be full tonight.”

“You’re having a pseudo-cold because you haven’t seen the moon in two months?” He scoffs. She knows the moon will be full, just knows, brushing off some of the most awesome power he’s ever seen. “That’s ridiculous.”

“And how would you feel if you were kept from the sun?” she asks so confidently it chills his blood a little.

“You weren’t like this a month ago.”

She turns away, blanket blocking her face from him. “Last month, when you happened to avoided this cell like the plague for a whole week?”

Her unresponsiveness when he walked in. How she’s using the blanket to cover up because if he looks to the corner, her clothes are still balled up, even the comfy tunic and leggings she’s grown accustom to wearing.

Last month he was absent. She was expecting him to be so again. “Should I leave?”

“You’re asking me?” The blankets ruffle as she looks over. Her hair’s loose from the braids she favours and some of its stuck to her forehead where she sweats. She considers him, the Pai Sho board, sighs. “I’m not up for playing today.”

She starts when he unfolds and strides from the room. She’s just finished getting herself comfy when he returns, kicking the door shut behind him as he juggles his armload over to her mattress. Covered back up, one eye watches him set out the teapot and cup, the shallow bowl and cloth, before he moves over to her incense burner to replace the oil with the lavender concoction he dug out of his own collection.

“The tea’s lavender too, and some willow bark for your head,” he says as he works.

“The first drink you ever made me,” she quips dryly. Must be feeling better already.

“I know I’m not the best at tea, or women, so I asked my uncle.”

“Lots of liquid here.” China scrapes the metal floor. He repositions so he’s side on and she freezes as she’s about to pour herself a cup. The cloth soaks in the bowl.

He turns back to his work. “You’re in no shape to fight me, water or no water.”

“I’m this way because of the full moon.” But she scowls down at the brim-full teacup. “No that that’s saying much.”

Zuko snaps sparks under the burners and waits for the lavender scent to fill the room, and to think of something he can say to that. “I’ll leave you in peace. Don’t try to waterbend with this and spurn my generosity. I’ll be sending Lily to watch you and posting guards outside the door.”

He goes to do just that when a softly spoken word stops him in his tracks. “Stay.”

His hand is on the door. “You’re not up for Pai Sho.”

A slim brown arm slithers out from under the blanket to point at her chest. “Read to me. Nothing observed by the Fire Nation. I’ll know.” She will. She almost ripped the parchment when whoever the scholar had been was stupid enough to write down Firemoth because he couldn’t remember the South Pole specimen.

The hand grabs the cloth on the way back under the blanket and places it over her eyes.

“Read to you?”

“You remember how, don’t you?”

She moves her head around, trying to find the perfect balance between cool cloth and blocking the harsh, penetrating light. He waves his hand, and her sigh is practically orgasmic as the sconces on the wall dim. “I think I can handle it.”

He handles it well enough, even gets a laugh or two out of her. She’s too tired to enjoy her hobby of correcting him, but when she doesn’t snort at his butchering of a water spirit name he’s never been able to get right, he keeps going because he knows that means she’s finally down.

When he’s sure she’s out – mouth slightly open, one side of the cloth drooping below her nose – he peels the cloth off and soaks it in the water. She didn’t wring it out when she put it on, the hair by her temples still damp even after the hours he’s been reading, but he does.

He smooths his thumb down her cheek as he replaces the cloth. The action brings a sigh from her sleeping lips, and she nuzzles her cheek into his palm, seeking his warmth. He jerks back when he realizes he’s still doing it, hasty to pick up where he left off in the scroll.

~ ~ ~

“Sunshine… Zuko, wake up. It’s night.”

He’s starting, groaning when his neck cricks. Was he napping? He never naps. He’s lucky if he gets a solid three hours across the night. Blinking rapidly in the gloom, he looks towards the bed. Katara sits exactly as she had before, except the blanket swoops across her shoulders, over her chest and pools in her lap like a summer solstice party cape. She’s wide awake, looking at him, none of the earlier fatigue or lethargy in her sparkling blue eyes.

She could have killed him or rolled the dice and tried to escape.

For a long moment he gapes at her, mind stilly foggy from sleep, until she pouts and looks away from him. “You’d catch flies if anything could get inside here.”

“How can you tell it’s night?” Zuko’s half-awake mouth fumbles around the words.

She lifts an eyebrow. “The moon’s full.”

She practically shudders with the declaration, tipping her head up as if she could feel the rays through the layers and layers of metal. The breath she takes in is wistful and mourning. Eyes clench shut around the wetness gathering beneath the lids.

Pulling her manacles off his belt, he looks at them in his lap. It feels like so long ago he took them off of her, but he never comes to the cell without them.

Her eyes widen when she sees them. “It’ll pass with the moon tonight. I won’t bend at all, I haven’t. I swear.”

She could have killed him where he sat and chose to let him sleep instead.

“Put them on.” She shuffles back when he holds them out to her. “I can’t take you up unless you wear them.”

She blinks. Digests his words. Then she’s snatching the cuffs, cinching one on with blind fury. He almost laughs as he helps her lock the other on and she jumps up, running to the door. It’s like telling a child of the Caldera they’re going to the city reflecting pools to look at the Turtleducks and get shaved ice and a wave of affection squeezes his heart. More than once he has to slow her down lest she get herself lost in his ship, knowing that the only way she needs to go is up but too frantic to find the door to the outside.

Yet when he opens the door, she doesn’t sprint out. Toeing at the threshold, silver painting her slippers in intermittent light. Practically vibrating. Nervousness ripples from her. So much daring and will reduced to a moment of paralysing hope. He can’t help but admire her, stalwart and glowing in the moonlight.

“I’d hate being kept from the sun,” Zuko whispers behind her. “After two months I’d be afraid Agni had taken it back, or that it had been stolen from the sky. I could only prey but have no fire to light it.” He reaches over her shoulder so his pale hand glows silver in the moonlight. “I… I shouldn’t have stolen the moon from you. Tui’s waiting.”

She breathes in. “It’s impossible to steal the moon. More like you stole me.” Steps out. Push and pull. The cool breeze dances with her loose hair, tossing and tumbling it around her as if tempting her to leap into the night sky. Moonlight bathes her in silver, cloaking her like a second skin of crushed diamonds. He’s seen men burn the air around them. Women shimmer like a hot summer day.

He’s never seen anyone sparkle.

She breathes the ocean air the way he breathes for his exercises. Does she know she’s doing it? He can’t imagine she’s completely in her body right now, caught in this delicate plane between water and moon.

And then she’s breaking, rushing for the ship edge, and only because he knows how unpredictable her temper can be does he fear for a second she might jump the rail. Half her body goes over, but she only sighs in rejuvenated bliss as the ocean spray dapples her face. When she looks back at him the waters chill bite has settled in her dusky cheeks, flushing her with life.

He’s always connected life with the sun, so much he’s never truly noticed how beautiful the moon is.

Reaching for him, she laughs when her capped hands jangle. He catches the laugh in his chest before it can bloom, shaking his head at her and bringing forth more giggles. Crossing the deck, he joins her at looking over the railing.

Their reflections ripple up at them. Zuko starts when he sees not only Katara’s wide grin, but his own softer smile.

She rocks her shoulder into his playfully. “Scary, right?”

Her touch almost sends him reeling. It wasn’t even skin to skin and he still almost runs from it. The last time they touched he’d done it, slowly and deliberate so she knew it was coming. Only watching her reflection watch the moonlight dance across the water and shimmer through the waves, pretending they’re two different people who don’t know what it means to flinch away from casual touch, can he calm his racing heart.

Until he realises she’s watching his reflection too. Instinctively, he turns his scar away before it can ruin the beautiful blue water. “Not too scary, right? You feel better now?”

“Hey.” She taps her manacle on his hand until he looks back down. “I feel much better, thank you.”

Reflection and Katara disappear from the water before his eyes, reappearing in her ethereal halo. Both look up to watch the swollen dark clouds cross the moon. Dependant on its glow, the shadows obliterate their visages in the water the second they cover the moon.

“Oh, I didn’t know it was going to be overcast.” His brow crinkles. “It doesn’t affect how much of the moon you can feel? Will this be enough so you don’t-”

The clouds fall. Rain drops the size of children’s fists pelt the ship, the deck and them, drenching everything in seconds. Katara’s reflection shrieks, then bursts into joyous laughter. Tipping her head back, her face glows with intermittent moonlight and fresh water.

Raised in a palace, Zuko’s courtly instincts kick in and he strips off his cloak. He’s halfway to wrapping it around her shoulders when she notices and cocks her head at him curiously. So close, water drips from the end of her nose onto his chin. “Right. Waterbender,” he says sheepishly, and even under the chill rain feels himself blush. “Wait, waterbender! You can’t be out here!”

Blue eyes crumple when he grabs her wrists above the manacles. “But-”

“No buts. You think I’m going to let a waterbender out in the rain, on a full moon? How stupid do you think I-”

“Zuko, please.” Katara blinks as the rain splashes their faces. Blinks enough for him to believe the tracks down her cheeks aren’t just water. “I can’t do anything, not with these locks on. Just… Please.”

Against the fear thumping in his chest, or maybe that’s still his wild heart, he drops her arms. “You won’t bend?”

Looking up at him, her smile is slow to come but no less earnest. “How would I? No, I won’t bend. But I am going to show you an ancient watertribe custom.”

His eyes narrow. “I’m not jumping in the ocean.”

“Neither am I. I’d drown.” She shakes the manacles again. “But I don’t need my arms to skim.”

“Skim?” The word is new to him, aside from the step in his uncle’s tea making he needs to take if the leaves turn out to be older than he realised, releasing a nasty film into the brew he needs to remove with a sieve.

Water has started to soak through his off-duty robes, darkening the red silk of his vest and sticking his black shirt to his back. Tucking his pants into the shin coverings spares them a few seconds before the water seeps in. His slippers do nothing to keep him from being soaked through, and she wants to extend their time out in this?

Answer comes in the form of her dashing across the deck, water flying in her wake, splashing up into his eyes as she skips and slides across the slippery iron. Waves fan her, nothing to do with waterbending, arcing water flying out behind her as she crashes into the opposite rail, laughing raucously. Madness, he would think if he hadn’t seen her laugh before, seen her crow as she gloats over beating him in Pai Sho or out-smarting him in Two Lies and a Truth.

Throwing her sopping hair off her face, Katara slips and slides back to her feet. “Try it! It’s fun!”

“It’s frivolous.” The water’s starting to make him grumpy.

“Give it a go, Sunshine.” It’s a challenge, leaving out her mocking lilt. Like if he doesn’t do it, he proves he’s the little prince she loves to make fun of.

Attempting to copy her skip sends his foot out from under him. In a half-split, half knee-slide he crashes not only into the rail but Katara’s legs, bringing her down on top of him. “This is ridiculous!” he snaps as she laughs, throwing her off his shoulders. Slick hands fail to grip the rail and he flops back down. Katara howls with laughter, leans against him “Skimming is stupid! Rain is horrible! Fun is ridiculous, there’s no tactical significance to this! It’s a waste of time!”

“You’re absurd,” Katara hollers, kicking water all over the place. Her dark hair floats in the shallow water. The rain came so quickly they didn’t have time to open the deck vents, so she has to close one submerged eye when she turns her head to look at him. “Wanna try it again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I know this wasn't exactly Zutara themed... WHICH IS EXACTLY WHY I STAND BY IT! 
> 
> I love a cannon rewrite, but they all suffer from one big problem. Zuko and Katara's character development get caught up in each other instead of their own arcs. I refuse to be one of those, and this chapter is paramount to both Sokka and Katara's development and I refused to skip it just because Zuko doesn't play a part. One re-write I came across even completely skips their development from season two (ZUKO ALONE!) so they can fill it with fluff. I am re-writing the cannon to fit Zutara, not re-writing the characters to fit my fic. I only ever want to add to them with my interpretation of an amazing series. 
> 
> But, I recognise also why you guys are reading this fic, and this chapter was shorter than the rest. So, if you guys give this chapter an honest college-try, a Kudos if you think the writing deserves it, and a comment if you have anything to say about it (good or bad, so long as it's constructive) I will upload the next chapter on Tuesday because that's where my Zutara kicks off. 
> 
> As always, Kudos welcome, likes, dislikes, comments and complaints. Let me know what you think!


	7. Winter Solstice Part One: The Spirit World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another piece of my Heart and Soul for you!
> 
> As always, you guys are amazing! I can't put into words how much I love to hear from you guys!! It really motivates me to keep going, keep me motivated and keeps me writing this fic! And thank you for bearing with me with through the restructure. I know it wasn't strictly necessary, but I like to keep my continuity consistent XD
> 
> Especially, big thanks as always to kyaah, saltykittykat, sanasnacks and CKuroki! And a big open arms welcome to Savage160, Niko and A_Genderfluid_Dumbass! You guys have made my week yet again, you're amazing!
> 
> You, everyone who reads this, all my lovely Kudos giving superstars, please let me know what you thought of this chapter! Knowing I’ve done a good job means the world to me and keeps me pressing on into Book Two!!!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Somehow, she convinces him to try skimming again. And again. It takes the next four rainy nights of waking with the pattering above his head and collecting her from her cell before Zuko can make it across the deck without falling on the only place a Firebender can’t make the sun shine.

And then it rains during the day, after a long dry spell, and Katara’s practically clawing at the walls in between her moves of Pai Sho. She gets so annoying, Zuko says protocol be damned, it’s his ship, and takes her up during the day to run off some of that frantic energy. Expecting some resistance, he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or embarrassed when none of his soldiers offer so much as an odd look as he walks the prisoner to the deck.

Perhaps their night-time excursions hadn’t been as incognito as he first thought.

But it makes coming back up again the next day less awkward. And the time after that.

Zuko feels only flickers of that embarrassment now as he leans against the railing of the upper deck, watching the amethyst sky deepen. Washed deep in peach pink and sunset purple, the sky sinks into twilight, and Zuko experiences a similar sinking within himself. Another day slowly ebbing into quiet night. Another day cast out to sea, cast out from his home.

Katara waits for the moon to show half her face beside him. Bound arms rest on the railing, chains dangling over the edge as she entertains herself by catching his crew members in its loop like a child looking through a spyglass. That one condition has stayed. If she wants to leave her cell, her hands must be capped so she can’t bend.

Chains lock together as Katara’s shoulders stiffen, hunching in and she hugs herself tight. Zuko watches her try to supress the shiver for a few seconds, until she catches his stare and stops, letting bone-deep shudders ripple through her body. “Fine, I’m cold. Waterbenders can get cold, too. Especially when they have freezing metal encasing their hands.”

She shakes the chains for good measure. In the frigid air they glisten, until he takes them in his own and melts away the burgeoning frost. Leaning down, her manacled hands cupped in his, he exhales a wide cloud of warm steam onto the metal.

Shudders of an entirely different nature wrack through Katara. He feels them until she pulls her hands from his to hold against her. “Oh, spirits that feels good. If only I could feel how amazing it is on my actual skin.” She doesn’t see his cheeks flush, too busy pressing the warm metal to her dusky cheek. “What was that?”

He swallows, trying not to picture the breathy image she so effortlessly implants in his head. “Firebenders call it the Breath of Life.”

“Fitting,” she hums, hugging the warm coil of chains to her midsection now.

“I could get you a cloak?” he offers.

“You’d have to let me take the cuffs off to put it on.”

“Nice try.”

A shrug and playful side smile convey how little effort went into the attempt. “Look,” she breathes, leaning back over the railing. He does, and frowns, but she’s too engrossed with the scene below them to see. “They’re dancing.”

Indeed, his crew leap and spin to the tsungi horn and koto he knows his uncle had a hand in setting up on the lower deck. Thirteen strings stretching across half a tube of ornate wood, each one plucked by Lily with delicate, nail-tipped fingers. Zuko’s experience with the instrument from childhood music lessons elicited only a tragic, mournful songs. Lily’s fingers pluck a warm, summer solstice balled from the zither. One he recognises - a swooping melody of a man finding his bride in a field of gold.

Boastful flips and Caldera tumblers raise the cheers all the way to where Katara and Zuko watch, almost drowning out the lively, joyful music.

Katara’s practically tumbling over the rail, watching the evening roll in across his ship deck. “Firebenders dance?”

Zuko snorts. “Dance belongs to my people, so to speak. The Fire Nation history is made in festivals, ribbon dances, Agni Kai’s, painting-”

“Raids, war-mongering and ruining lives one tribe or monastery at a time,” Katara finishes, raising an unimpressed eyebrow when he scowls at her. “You really dance?”

“Sort of… It’s complicated.” It’s stupid, she’ll say. Honestly, in her company, he’s starting to see why she would think so. “We’re a people of dancers, but it’s discouraged in childhood. More like… forbidden. But not really. In my youth my tutors would say it’s frivolous, meaningless, and a waste of energy to dance. So, I’d dance, and think I was rebelling.”

Katara’s laugh is a surprise to herself, throaty and rich. Harmonising perfectly with the raucous shouts below. It worms its way into his chest, seeking out a partner to laugh too.

“Really, I was celebrating a huge part of my culture, glamorizing it even more. All kids are told never to dance. All kids grow up believing _Hazu of the Dancing Lights_ is the most romantic story in all the worlds.” He may or may not have definitely tried to get Mai to sneak off to a performance of that during an extended holiday at Ember Island.

“Your elders trick you into believing dancing is illegal, only for you to grow up thinking you’re all these rebels of movement?” Katara snorts.

“Tricked us into thinking it was the highest form of rebellion,” Zuko emphasises, grateful to the encroaching gloom for covering the flush creeping up his neck.

“You poor thing,” Katara croons unsympathetically.

“I know.” She rolls her eyes at his smirk, his heartrate tripling as she also fights off a smile. “My mother always encouraged me to break those rules, even just for the pleasure of it. We’d sneak into her private garden and-”

He cuts himself off, pretending to focus on the dancing men and women below. He hunches in on himself when Katara leans closer.

“-and it’s why I can fight so effectively, why most Firebenders can defeat anyone who tries to face them.”

“Most anyone except fourteen-year-old boys.”

He grumbles. “Fourteen-year-old boys who also happen to be the Avatar.”

“Aang’s an airbender and he can barely waterbend.” She means to mock him, but Zuko files that little titbit of information away. “Show me.”

“Show you?”

“Your dancing.”

He snorts in a most unprincely fashion. “I’d rather show you my juggling.”

“You juggle?” she asks incredulously.

“No.”

“Spirits, Zuko, smile when you do that.” Her blue eyes roll. In the same action she’s waving a hand excitedly at him. “Show me how young firebending studs move for their fire ladies.”

“You’re no fire lady,” he mutters, trying not to sound so bitter. Truth is, he’s no stud. Can’t even pass for unremarkable anymore. Calling him that is the easiest and cruellest way she can mock him. It’s no accident he placed himself on her left and turns even more away from her.

“Fine, don’t dance,” she huffs, expertly feigning disappointment. “But you’ve already fought in front of me so you can’t be all shy. Show me now, slower, how it transcribes.”

He glances at her out of the corner of his good eye. She’s got her arms crossed, staring him down. Challenging him. Resentment of the stud comment tries to claw its way into his heart. He knows how his scar looks to everyone, how it draws the eye. He’s gotten good at avoiding the question askers, he can spot them from a mile away: _Can he still see out of it? Does it hurt? Has he thought about wearing a mask?_ Katara’s stud joke is a painful reminder of everyone seeing it before him. He wants to go back to his quarters, get under his blankets.

But he also wants to show her. Impress her.

Sighing, he pushes off the rail, stepping back so he’s out of sight of the happy dancers on the below deck. He goes into the kata without preamble or introduction, starting off with his feet, finding his stance, moving upwards. Katara turns and leans back against it, elbows propping her up, watching the way he bends, side-steps, sweep of his arm which snaps back to protect his centre. His every move holds her complete attention.

“It’s called the Snapping Willow. Decades old, almost a century. No two firebenders in a room will be able to counter it. No firebender under sixty can fight it.” As he moves, speaks, Zuko’s voice becomes his uncles in his own ears. “Never retreat backward. No attack opens when a man allows himself to be pushed. Use their force to create new angles. Flow around him.”

“Sounds a lot like airbending,” Katara muses.

Zuko chuckles as he executes the Root Cutter Stance, still fresh in his mind from when he used it to defeat Zhao. “No airbender can fight like this.” Flows into the Falling Leaf manoeuvre next, slashing through the air in a downward motion which would give the corkscrew impression with his flames swirling around him.

“The Snapping Willow,” Katara breathes.

“It’s fluid, like a spring breeze in defence, then lashing and horrible as the branches of a willow switch snapping back.” He ends his set in the Winter’s Calm stance, right arm upright and away from his body where his arm would act as the torch while one foot plants forwards, knees bent.

“How do you know it?” Katara’s voice breaks through the trance his kata exercises always put him in. He blinks a few times, looking at her over his shoulder. “No two firebenders in a room will be able to counter it. No firebender under sixty can fight it. That’s what you said, but you’re barely twenty.”

He’s actually approaching twenty-one. “It was developed by a young master firebender of my grandfathers time. You can’t say the name Sunblood in the Fire Nation without stopping all conversation in the room. Two of his pupils were my father and his older brother.”

Katara’s brow furrows, then her blue eyes widen, and she almost launches over the rail in her haste to look over the edge. “Iroh?”

“How do you think I learned it? Sunblood was gone long before my introduction to the Burning Place.” He rubs the back of his neck when he sees her face. Right, brutality is not impressive to her. “I guess I don’t really know it. More like a watered-down version, I suppose.”

“Don’t sleep on water. A willow can’t grow without it.” She’s teasing and completely serious, wrapped in the simple, honest maxim. Stepping off the rail, she holds up her arms in a basic fighter’s stance. “Show me.”

He snorts. “No way. No two firebenders in a room know this style. I’m not dulling my edge because you’re bored.”

“Like I’m ever going to willingly be in a room with two firebenders, let alone one.” She tilts her chin up and to the side, effortlessly indifferent. “If I could have it my way, I’d be on the back of a fluffy bison, far from here, but we have to work with what we have.”

He’s used to pretending she only says things like that because, well, what else is she going to say to her enemy? He’s not so practiced at pretending a new sting doesn’t rear its ugly head every time she says things like that. “Stick to your watertribe expressions of movement.”

With a glare she decides she’s bored with him and goes back to watching the dancers on the below deck.

~ ~ ~

“The Snapping Willow fights reactively.” Katara’s piece moves confidently across the board, setting up behind his Raging Dragon manoeuvre.

“It does,” Zuko murmurs, not really paying attention as he focuses on the board.

In the corner, Lily tends their tea and pretends not to listen. Zuko isn’t sure who on the ship she’d inform to, and it’s not like he and Katara talk about anything interesting. And, maybe, it’s because he doesn’t like the idea of having an audience to his Pai Sho skills that he considers his next mov more carefully.

He hasn’t figured out what play Katara’s setting up, her pieces moving between her favourite gambit, the Iris, and the less familiar Winter Shadow. It’s a high risk, high reward strategy; while she’s delaying her chance to set her feet and attack, whichever she chooses decides how he will push.

Katara keeps talking. “It’s not about force, but about movement and opposing an opponent’s momentum.”

“Using it against them.” Non-committal answers are the easiest to give as he studies his next move.

“How?” It’s still not her turn but she studies the board too.

“How? How to use an opponent’s force against them?” She can’t learn the Willow through theory alone and talking about the study of the style and focusing on the board is proving a bit of a challenge. “You… move, you know. Don’t let them push you backwards, but don’t force your way into them either. Nobody wins like that, butting heads like two Rhinobisons’s competing for the same mate.”

He considers a place on the board but puts his piece back where it was. “I used to watch council meetings Uncle would sit for Grandfather and always, without fail, Commander Tuzon would rise to any challenge my Uncle made to his authority. It was like he was looking for the fight. As you can imagine, whenever someone gave it to him, nothing would get done. Uncle would let him bluster, shout, bang his fists, all the while finding the best way to move around him, never matching his force but redirecting it, until he felt like he’d been met, not realising my Uncle hadn’t exchanged a single blow.”

Katara makes an acknowledging noise as he decides to release his Dragon flame to eliminate the threat coming in from behind. Without looking, she reaches beside her leg for her cup of tea. Lavender today, per her request, and he’s not going to dissuade a Katara reaching for calm.

“You’re good at the Snapping Willow.” Lily kneels and refills her cup. Katara thanks her with a smile, insisting she pour one for herself.

“You can thank his Uncle for that.” Lily would never dare speak before being properly addressed if they were in the Fire Nation Courts. Obviously, Katara barely exudes half the formal pressures of courtly life as she reclines against her pillows to sip her tea, waiting for Lily to continue.

“A Willow is as flexible in nature as in name, Mistress Katara.” He doesn’t miss Katara’s wince at the title. If Lily caught it as well, decades of service override the order to ignore the title. “It survives in almost all climates because it needs all of them to survive. The Earth provides its home. The Wind provides forces so its structure can grow, the way bones and muscles need movement to grow. The Water provides it with food. The Sun provides it with life.”

Zuko barely pays their exchange any attention, using Lily’s ramblings to decide his next move. “You’ve barely seen me put the Willow into practice.”

Katara looks at him across the table. “Did you put it into practice on Kyoshi Island?”

His cheeks burn shamefully. “That was not my proudest moment. Have… have you heard anything from them- the villagers?”

“Sokka writes Suki whenever we stop anywhere long enough for him to find a pen.” She smirks under her lashes up at him. “There were no casualties, a few minor burns thanks to Aang being able to get ahead of your invasion and evacuate most of the civilians.”

“I knew you had something to do with that!”

“Who, me?” she blinks rapid and innocently up at him, blue eyes glittering evilly.

Lily can’t see her face, but she laughs, even when Zuko glowers at her. But when she raises a challenging eyebrow at him, he blushes and looks back at the board. Reprimanding someone the same age as his uncle, even if her life is one of obedience and service, feels overtly gratuitous. Like something Azula would do. And even though she’s never met her, he’d hate for Katara to make that assumption too.

“Yes, you, Waterbender.” He pours his frustration into the board, intensifying his Dragon’s flame. “I only needed to use it when Sokka and those other two ganged up on me. And… that might or might not have been what set the porch on fire.” He focuses on his turn without really focusing. “Thank you. I didn’t plan to invade and things… got away from me quickly. I’m glad no one was hurt.”

Katara’s eyes flick between him and the board. He feels the scorn building, grabbing at his chest, trying to pull his guts up into his throat. He didn’t mean to hurt the people of Kyoshi. She must know that. He’d kept his word when he left her village and the people of her tribe alone with the Avatar. Any Firebending officer under Zhao would have taken the Avatar and burned that village to ashes. They already tried once.

“You didn’t hurt anyone.” He looks up sharply, but Katara once again focuses on the board. Maybe a little too hard considering it’s not her turn. “Earth Kingdom villages are pretty sturdy. It’s practically impossible to move them by force. You waste less energy moving around them.”

She favours him with a rare, genuine smile. He feels her compliment in it, knowing how quick and sharp she can be with her words. But what did he do to deserve it?

Her winter stance explodes into a snowstorm, consuming the two thirds of the board he left undefended, before he can figure it out.

“Good effort but save yours a little better next time.” She smirks at his bewilderment as she resets the board.

~ ~ ~

“Uncle! It’s time to leave!” Zuko stomps through the Earth Kingdom forest close to where his ship made port. The detour, while necessary for supply replenishment, clearly was not interesting enough to keep his Uncle from wandering off. He was sure he came through this way. “Where are you? Uncle Iroh?”

“Over here!”

Zuko spies his uncle’s clothes first, folded up on a rock, and slows his approach to the hot spring his uncle lounges in to one with a lot more caution. “Uncle? We need to move on, which will be pretty hard to do without your clothes. Can you put them on so we can get back to the ship?”

Arms spread across the rock pool, Uncle’s grey eyebrow rises as he regards him. “So eager to leave my company. Or, perhaps, join another’s?”

Zuko pretends it’s the swampy heat of his uncle’s spring turning his cheeks pink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You look tired, Prince Zuko. Why don’t you join me in these hot springs?” Uncle leans further into his warm pool. “In fact, why don’t you bring the lovely Katara? You could both soak away your troubles.”

“My troubles can’t be soaked away,” Zuko snaps, but it comes out more of a squeak.

“And the lady Katara? I know you won’t let her go without putting on those awful cuffs, but you should take your teacher's advice and relax a little. The temperature's just right. I heated it myself.” Steam shoots out his nose to bring more boiling bubbles to the surface of the water. “If you’re worried about the situation being improper, have her be escorted by Lily. I’m sure she and I can be adequate chaperones.”

“Enough!” Zuko can’t concentrate with the images his uncle forces into his head. Steam and Katara make all too an alluring pair. “We need to leave. Get out of the water!”

“Very well,” Iroh grunts with a sigh, standing from the water without preamble.

“Ugh!” Zuko cries, covering his eyes. “On second thought, why don't you take another few minutes? But be back at the ship in a half-hour or I'm leaving without you!”

A hearty splash gives way to his uncle’s laughter. “Give Katara my regards when you see her!”

~ ~ ~

“Little late today, Sunshine,” Katara chortles as he stalks in, her eyebrows raising when she notices he’s still in his armour. He dons it whenever he leaves the ship; more for his own protection than spreading the Fire Nation’s might to the rest of the kingdoms. But if the people see him as powerful, maybe they’ll embrace the rule of the Fire Nation better and embrace a piece of that power for themselves.

At least she’s dropped the mocking lilt to his unofficial title. She somehow makes Sunshine sound rather dashing – If he cared.

She cocks her head as he works on the buckle beneath his collarbone, stripping the armoured shoulder plates off over his head. They go on the floor by the door, his chest plate following. “Something wrong?”

His leg guards remain half-buckled. “No.” He can lie to her about as well as he can waterbend. Sighing, he tromps over to the Pai Sho board. “Uncle’s taking forever to get back on the ship. He’s found himself some stinking pound to sit in and make steam bubbles, meanwhile the Avatar’s trail is going cold.”

Even as he rants, he knows he’ll get no sympathy from her. He sets to rubbing at the tension headache growing between his eyes.

“So, you’re stuck in this metal box with nothing but time and two thumbs to twiddle?” The mocking lilt rears its baby-voiced head. “Poor thing, what’s that like?”

“Not in the mood, waterbender,” he grumbles, thumb resting over his eye.

Her laughter peters out. “I’m not going to simper poor babies over you struggling to capture my friend. You’re already one up.” Dusky fingers tap the table-top. “And if you bore Aang as much as you’re boring me right now, you won’t have to chain him up on the trip back to the Fire Nation. Just sink deeper into your brooding pity party and he’ll be comatose the whole way.”

Blue eyes widen when a weak chuckle escapes him. “Wow, you really must be giving up if I’m getting away with that.”

“Only you can.” Tipping his head against the wall, he peeks at her through one slitted eye. “But only because I haven’t beaten you enough in Pai Sho yet to be considered the better player.”

Her smirk is playful and unnaturally confident. “Please, I trounce you.”

She absolutely did last time, but he’d just missed a chance to corner the Avatar in Omashu and was still fuming. Naturally, losing to her hadn’t improved his mood much. But she stuck it out, tolerated his attitude. True, she had no choice. But after she won she didn’t gloat, only played at stacking the pieces until he calmed down, then used them and the slick board to show him how to play a smaller version of the Avatar’s game, airball, using their hands as the goals and shooting the pieces with their thumbs. She didn’t need to simulate blustering wind noises with her mouth with every shot, but they made her laugh even when she missed, and him smile when he thought about it later.

No one just sits with him. No one lets his thoughts play themselves out instead of trying to change them. She can distract him when she sees them trying to overwhelm him.

_She’s your captive. She has no choice but to sit in this room. If things were how she wanted them, she wouldn’t even be here._

“You don’t want to join my pity party?” he mumbles, kneading his temples. “I could order the cook to make us cake.”

“Some party. Pass, no thanks. I’d rather beat myself over the head with the Pai Sho board until I pass out.”

He flicks the flimsy wooden board. Wooden pieces skip and skitter. “You’ll be here a while.”

“Nothing new there.”

He buries his wince in his head massage. “Nope. Nothing new.”

He can feel her watching him. “You know your head wouldn’t hurt so much if your hair wasn’t always in that pony-tail.”

“Not gonna happen,” Zuko mutters. The shame behind the particular Fire Nation custom when it comes to hair, or his chosen style, may have been something he purposefully omitted from their culture lessons, but he knows. And he knows he can’t face how she’d react if she did.

“Fine.” She begins playing with the Pai Sho pieces, glancing up at him as she builds them into stacks. “Drink some water, take a nap or something.”

“I don’t nap.”

“You did before.”

By accident, he remembers, and shivers at the idea of being asleep in front of someone. So vulnerable, begging to be taken advantage of. Except she didn’t. Except she was awake while he wasn’t and let him sleep.

“It might make you feel better,” she fills the silence as she fiddles with the Pai Sho pieces.

“Why do you care?”

Startled, her fingers freeze over the pieces, then drops the one she’s holding. Her quick face shows he’s in for it now before her eyes narrow. “I’m not fighting with you, Zuko. You’re annoyed that your uncle wants to take some time to relax and I’m not going to agree he’s a monster for it.”

“My uncle is not a monster.”

“That’s what I’m saying to you.” She cocks her head curiously at him. “Have you ever considered that everything out of my mouth isn’t some backhanded attack or underhanded way to insult you?”

“Why would anyone say anything but to do that?”

“Wow.” She blinks at him. “I’m going to chock that up to being raised in a court and, most likely, a combination of bad parenting and underaged drinking.”

“How else do you think I got through the day?” His heart flutters when her laughter eclipses the reflexive bitter twang at the mention of his parents. “I wasn’t only raised at court, by the way. I was… sent on my mission when I was thirteen and haven’t been back since.”

“Thirteen?” Her dark eyebrows scrunch together. “That’s kind of young to be sent away from home.”

He shrugs. “Destinies can’t wait for me to have a couple birthdays.”

She doesn’t snort like he expects her to, and he shifts under her cool, curious gaze. “You must have met a lot of people, seen a lot of things, as you searched for Aang. Did you talk to any of them?”

He doesn’t see what that question has to do with anything, but he shrugs anyway. “Of course. I had to look for leads and follow up on them. Why?”

“Because most people I’ve talked to hate the Fire Nation more than anything.”

“Charming.”

She’s too focused for his liking. Her eyes search his face. “One boy I knew hated you so much he flooded an entire village just to root out a few soldiers stationed there,” she carries on like she never heard him.

“What? How could he be so strategically stupid?” People died because a boy had his feelings hurt and couldn’t get a grip? “Fire Nation soldiers are prideful idiots. I can guarantee you’ll see more blood than wine from a spilled chalice at the courts. Tell him next time to just openly challenge them and let their honour think he’ll show up alone to a duel and save some civilian lives next time.”

“No one died. Sokka got the villagers out before the dam was blown. But it sounds like if you were there things wouldn’t have gone that far.”

She regards his cold rage with collected measure. “Why are you nothing like them?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not like any Fire Nation man I’ve ever met, Zuko. Did you hear what you just said? Fire Nation soldier’s following their honour? They don’t have any. I’ve watched men of your country rob shop owners of their wages and call it taxes. I’ve seen cruelty you can’t imagine because they’re bored at their Earth Kingdom village stations. And in the fight to stop that cruelty I watched someone I thought I could… respect use civilian lives as currency because it justified his hate.”

“What’s your point?” Zuko snaps. Those focused, blue eyes are starting to unnerve him.

“Why do you keep chasing Aang around the world when your influence would be so much better put to use back in the Fire Nation? You give a shit, which is already so much more than I can say for your dad’s way of ruling.”

Zuko’s nerves stop quaking, steely determination not to cower at just His mention overpowering his resolve. “Don’t talk about my father.”

“Why, because it disrespects his honour? Can he have honour with how he rules? Can your dad tell me stories of festival nights at the Caldera and not make me think of atrocities and butchery, but of how cool it would be to try fire flakes or spiced wine?”

She moves around the table to kneel next to him. “Make me understand how a father can banish his son for over half a decade, continue to oppress people all across the world, and you can think that’s the same wish you have for the Fire Nation to share its wealth?”

She’s almost begging him to hear her. He does, and seethes at her presumptuousness, at the idea she could have the faintest clue what she’s talking about, and his own traitorous impulse to explain it to her.

She wouldn’t understand it, understand him, or want to know how. No one does.

“You care, Zuko, about civilian lives.” She’s begging him, to do what, he can’t comprehend. Look at her? Hear what she’s saying? “You care about the locals, the economy, the standard of living. Not just for the nobles but for everyone. You care about the prosperity of the Fire Nation. _All_ of the Fire Nation. And before you can be someone I… respect, I need to understand how it’s the same.”

But when she goes to touch his hand, he snatches it away, glaring at her. She has to scramble back when he jumps to his feet. “What does a Southern Watertribe peasant know of ruling an entire country? What does some girl know about a father’s relationship with his son? Your own brother couldn’t tell you that, so you have to demand it from me? You know what caring about how my father conducts his rule got me?”

Her wide blue eyes search his face. “I think I have an idea.”

“I don’t think you do.” He sneers down at her, feels it contort his already hideous face. “And don’t think you can understand anything about what goes on in the Fire Nation. If we’re both lucky you’ll never have to find out.”

Rage simmers between them, his hot and ready to burn them both down. Hers cold, the kind that chills the blood and reminds him just what they are to each other.

“I’ve wasted too much time here. I need to collect my uncle.”

A bitter lilt follows him out, “Sorry I wasted your time, _Sunshine_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please let me know your thoughts and feedback because I would love to know if I’m doing a good job!! It only takes a second and it would be greatly appreciated!! Reading all your wonderful comments keeps me writing as I plough on for Book Two.
> 
> Speaking of! I have reached Zuko alone, and I'm so stumped, lol. Can we all agree it's a perfect episode? It's soooo good XD
> 
> Kudos always welcome, likes, dislikes, comments and complaints. Let me know what you guys think because I love reading them and finding out about you guys!


	8. The Winter Solstice Part Two: Avatar Roku

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another piece of my Heart and Soul for you!
> 
> As always, you guys are amazing! I can't put into words how much I love to hear from you guys!! It really motivates me to keep going, keeps me motivated and keeps me writing this fic! And thank you for bearing with me with through the restructure. I know it wasn't strictly necessary, but I like to keep my continuity consistent XD
> 
> This chapter combines my Southern Air Temple chapter, so for anyone who's already read that you can skip the flashbacks. Or, if you liked it, you can read it all again XD
> 
> Especially, big thanks as always to saltykittykat, gimmiezutara and Niko! And a big open arms welcome to Dr. Killinger, sarahjh23 and Kiayame! You guys have made my week yet again, you're amazing!
> 
> You, everyone who reads this, all my lovely Kudos giving superstars, please let me know what you thought of this chapter! Knowing I’ve done a good job means the world to me and keeps me pressing on into Book Two!!!
> 
> (Revisions were made after publication - updated to match. Due to a misunderstanding leading to an unnecessary hateful comment, I have decided to moderate comments on this fic from here on out
> 
> I hope this doesn’t hinder my other lovely readers continuous support ❤️)
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Senlin bids Zuko’s ship a hasty farewell, disappearing with the setting sun at their backs as they turn their ship. Zuko stares into the purple gloom, savouring the last of the sun’s rays on the back of his neck.

She’s safe, he thanks Agni, tipping his head forward in silent prayer.

His men have orders to sail hard and sail strong for the crescent isle, especially after Zhao’s attack; they lose the Avatar’s trail, they lose their position on Zuko’s ship. As happy as they'd be to set back on dry land, being dismissed from the banished prince's ship will guarantee a shoddy station for the long-term assignments.

Zuko is under no illusion. No one wants to be on his ship.

Against his will, as are most of his thoughts, his mind drifts to Katara. Agni’s warmth chooses then to dip below the horizon. Replaced by a chill, he shivers as melancholy fills him as it so often does. He has to grip the rails until his knuckles go white, fighting to dispel the rage that almost turns his ship around to finish Zhao once and for all.

When that missile struck the side of his ship and smoke burst from the engine, Zuko almost bolted then and there. How deep did the missile penetrate? Far enough to reach Katara’s cell, four levels deep, drier than the desert and no water?

She’d have been incinerated in seconds.

Breathe, he reminds himself.

Once again, a fight has led him to abstain from seeing her. Saving face? Maybe, he can't tell. Not like he has to see her every day. She’s his prisoner. So why does he feel like his skeleton is trying to jump out of his skin so it can run to her? Why is he still holding off? Still, after today?

He's only hurting himself, but he can't seem to help it. He has little left to his name, he can't afford to give up his pride as well.

And Katara won't be missing him the way he misses her, even if she’s just a few levels below. Might as well be across the world. And it's not fair how many things he has to remind him of her; clouds growing heavy with rain on the horizon. The tsungi horns being warmed up for the evening’s entertainment. Even his Kata exercises hold remnants of her awe, her wonder as he performed the Snapping Willow.

She's infected everything he does. Maybe this confrontation he speeds towards will be the last. He'll capture the Avatar, and finally be rid of the waterbender and this hold she's slowly tightening around him.

He’s not looking forward to it. The last time he was face to face with Zhao was an experience he’d rather forget.

~ ~ ~

Ten Months Previously:

The Southern Air Temple

A feeling of regression washes over Zuko as his ruined ship pulls into the Earth Kingdom’s south west military harbour, the closest he’s been to home in years. Floating in the shadow of a mountain range, it extends through a long strip of flat land across the shoreline. Naval ships dock in the crevices at the water's edge. Tracks dug into the earth and lined with rails run between the crevices, transporting barrels and crates to various ports within the harbour. A much longer, wider rail connects the port to a military camp further inland.

Commandeered by Captain Zhao, the docks had been under Fire Nation control for the last six months. Exactly why Zuko had skirted around it on his journey to the South Pole. He relished crossing paths with Fire Nation patrols as much as he would a hornet-vulture sting to his good eye, and none loved to make it sting worse than Captain Zhao. The jumped-up soldier turned captain greased the pole behind him as he rose in the ranks, and loved talking down to the prince of the Fire Nation as much as Zuko loathed every second in the smug, scathing man’s presence.

The massive Fire Nation warships close in Zuko’s slighter, smaller vessel. He resists the urge to sneer at the gratuitous show of power. Zhao loved those. Zuko made a bet with himself that when he greeted them, Zhao would have at least two chords of merit dangling from his ornamented shoulder covers. Zuko preferred the much more utilitarian flat guards, better for moving unhindered between opponents. Not like Zhao would do his own fighting unless absolutely necessary, or if there was someone to impress.

His uncle follows dutifully at his heels, respecting Zuko’s need to go in front. Zuko despised the notion, but here they both knew he needed to look as in control as possible. Especially here.

“I want the repairs made as quickly as possible,” Zuko murmurs lowly as they descend the gang plank wedged between the mastodons. “I don't want to stay too long and risk losing his trail.”

“You mean the Avatar?”

Zuko spins, cutting off Iroh’s descent. “Don’t mention his name on these docks! Once word gets out that he’s alive, every firebender will be out looking for him, and I don’t want anyone getting in the way.”

His uncle blinks past him, lips tightening as heavy bootsteps approach and a voice drawls, “Getting in the way of what, Prince Zuko?”

Zuko steels himself, crossing his arms as he turns. He instantly regrets such an insecure gesture, but holds, shifting back onto his heels as if the side burned, armoured man striding towards them was just another shopper at the market. “Captain Zhao.”

Impossibly, Zhao’s smugness grows. “It’s Commander now.” And he uses the new title as his right to completely ignore Zuko, offering Iroh the respectful nod. Sure enough, three dark red braided chords shift with the motion, settling against the armoured shoulder plate when he straightens. “General.”

“Retired General,” Iroh corrects, good naturedly gesturing to his own naked shoulder before bowing deeper than Zhao’s new station deserves.

“The Fire Lord's brother and son are welcome guests anytime.” Zhao takes a bit too much pleasure in the tacit acknowledgment of his superior position. “What brings you to my harbour?”

“Our ship is being repaired,” Iroh fields, because Zuko doesn’t trust himself to speak civilly.

Zhao indulges a few seconds longer than necessary as he surveys the ruined front of Zuko’s barge. “That’s quite a bit of damage.”

“We crashed into an Earth Kingdom ship,” Zuko forces out through gritted teeth.

Zhao’s eyebrows reach his hairline. “Really? You must regale me with all the thrilling details.” He leans in close. Zuko fights the urge to squirm as burner laced breath skims his scar. “Join me for a drink?”

“Sorry,” Zuko growls, averting his eyes. “But we have to go.”

An admonishing hand on his shoulder stops him. “Prince Zuko, show Commander Zhao your respect.” Iroh offers Zhao a compensating bow. “We would be honoured to join you. Do you have any ginseng tea? It's my favourite.”

Neither man comments on the burst of heat which erupts from Zuko’s mouth at their backs. Doesn’t matter. Zhao’s smug look back over his shoulder is far worse.

~ ~ ~

The Winter Solstice, Part Two: Avatar Roku

"Prince Zuko?" His uncle's voice arrives just in time to distract him from the ache in his heart. "Dusk is almost gone. What are you still doing up here?"

Brooding, Katara would tease with a nudge into his side. Only now that it's not there does he wonder when he got so used to her casual touches. A product of growing up perpetually freezing, he suspects. An unconscious habit to seek warmth wherever it may be.

Even from him? Maybe, as a last resort.

"Watching the sunset."

His uncle hums as he comes to stand at his side. Both know he rarely uses his free time for peaceful activities. "You are facing the wrong way for that." Spreading out before them, the gloomy purple sky deepens to match the dark ocean. "Unless you are growing a new fondness for blue?"

"I hate blue. It washes me out." Makes him look downright ill.

"Will the lady Katara be joining us this evening?" his uncles asks after a few moments silence.

"I... don't think that's a good idea."

"Because of the way you scorned her attempt to tell you you'll make a good Fire Lord?"

His cheeks redden. "The only good Fire Lord to Katara is a dead one."

"She seemed to think differently after I told her of our escapades in the Earth Kingdom a few days ago."

"Your escapades. My rescue mission."

Iroh smiles. "Exactly what she thought as well, my prince. She told me to say she doesn’t believe you smashed my chains with your heel. Neither does the lovely Lily. You might need to prove it to them." He's quiet a few moments. "She thinks you quite handsome."

"What?" Zuko splutters.

"When I told her of my invitation to join me, she blushed a pretty pink. Not-" he interrupts before Zuko can point out the obviously perverse image everyone but his uncle finds perverse. "-at the thought of being unclothed before me, I can assure you. Watertribe customs do not shy away from practical nudity. Body heat is a commodity in the poles. There are no people who love the sun's warmth like the Fire Nation than the Watertribes of the poles."

"I don't see what that has to do with me."

"She asked if you were invited as well."

Zuko's brain stops working for three heartbeats, his blood pumping decidedly elsewhere than his head.

Thankfully, his uncle fills the silence. "Is it wise to be charting through the Fire Nation, nephew? Of all the things you’ve done in your twenty years…”

“This is the most foolish,” Zuko finishes the thought. For the first time, he feels it. Feels the mortality he speeds towards. Why now? What’s changed that has him second guessing the decisions his destiny drives him towards? “I have no choice, uncle.”

“Have you completely forgotten that the Fire Lord banished you? What if you're caught?” Uncle pleads. “What do you think will happen to Katara?”

“I’m chasing the Avatar. My father will understand why I’m returning home.” He pointedly doesn’t answer his uncle’s last question.

Iroh waits, but when Zuko offers nothing, shakes his grey head. “You give him too much credit. My brother is not the understanding type.”

“Only I’ll have to face him.” If all goes well, Katara won’t have to find out. But it’s not in his nature, nor his power, to go on without knowing. “Take her back to Kyoshi if I don’t return in three days. She has friends there. Friends who know how to get into contact with the Avatar.”

He doesn’t want her stranded among enemies; If not on his ship, he wants her with her friends.

“I need to prepare the boat.” He turns away. Smoke still billows from the engine stacks. He needs it and loathes it.

“I have taken care of that. Go say your sorry’s before nightfall. You’ll regret it even after you come back and no longer have a reason.” His uncle is not suggesting.

~ ~ ~

Ten Months Previously:

The Southern Air Temple

Zhao lets them ride in his personal carriage into the harbour proper.

Numerous military tents line their departure from the docks, resembling temples in design and exhibiting the red and gold colours of the Fire Nation. Multiple flags, lamp posts, and watch towers, traditionally red in appearance, sway in the evening breeze. Among one of the harbour’s most notable facilities is an area, hastily erected and blocked off from the remainder of the establishment by a rectangular stone wall with four large torches at the corners. Two arched gates bearing flags lead into a flat, spacious dirt field. Zuko has to look away from the burning place as they pass by, glowering at the floor, scar throbbing.

He busies his mind with where he thinks the Avatar will head next, and before he realises what’s happening, he’s being ushered inside the biggest tent in the pavilion. The interior’s elaborately decorated; a rug, large table, chairs, and at the far back wall a weapon display rests against the cloth wall, as well as a map of the world Zhao and his officials use to plan the south west military strikes.

Zhao goes immediately to the map, standing impeccably straight before it. Zuko waits at the tents entrance to see if he’ll be invited to join him or take a seat. His uncle makes no such courtesies, moving straight to curiously inspect the weapons rack. After it seems Zhao has forgotten he’s there, Zuko takes one of the chairs.

Idly, Zhao surveys his map, fingers gripping and loosening around his wrist behind his back in typical Firebender fashion. Kinetic heat, rage and passion running through the blood. Zuko feels the same nervous impulse but keeps himself in check.

It seemed so long ago when Zhao would take him out on his patrols of the city. Part of Zuko’s earliest training was following the man around, soaking up every detail of Caldera City, how to deescalate market brawls, how to properly greet the nobility, how they should learn to greet their future Lord. He favoured Zuko then, bringing him close, teaching him things his father never bothered. Zuko was a favourite, adoring pupil, second only to Azula. Now, Zhao is a stranger, and Zuko an embarrassment.

He takes the tea offered by one of Zhao’s serving men as the Commander in questions voice fills the tent. “Three coal refineries. Two roadhouses on main trade routes. Fire Nation outposts. All destroyed since the Fire Nation pressed its advantage into the inner continent. Seven attacks, in my region alone.”

“The Earth Kingdom grows bold,” Zuko mutters. Staying quiet only deepens Zhao’s pitiful opinion of him. Despite his exile, he must at least be aware of his nation’s activities. Learning how authentic Zhao’s information is will also give Zuko an idea of how long he has to manoeuvre.

“If it is indeed the Earth Kingdom who perpetrate the acts.” Zhao muses.

“You’ve lost control of more than one nation?” He needs to move Zhao back to the Earth Kingdom instead of away.

“No. But there are spider-ants and rat-bugs in the world. The attacks are subtle for those brutish Earth thugs, precise, uncharacteristically non-violent. Discontinuous from the pattern of barrack attacks and route ambushes. The Earth Kingdom natives are not economical disruptors, so I struggle believing these acts of subtler war originate with them.”

The water tribes. Those soft hearted, non-violent saboteurs will be the ruin of Zuko’s destiny. Against his will the peasant girl swims to mind, unyielding blue eyes glaring into his as if she were sitting right in front of him. She’d be orchestrating these rebellions. She was smart enough. He was not so prideful to deny it and won’t be so stupid to underestimate a girl who can trick him into believing she was the Avatar, if only briefly.

“Who do you suggest.” He can’t leave without knowing.

“Perhaps it is no longer only the Earth Kingdom who still oppose us. With the Air Nomads destroyed but the Water Tribe merely under subjugation, I hardly think we have as tight a grip on the lesser tribes than we believe. Perhaps they’ve expanded without our knowledge.”

Zuko rarely likes himself. He’s about to drop to a whole new level of self-loathing, but he needs to keep Zhao focused where he needs him. “Water tribes.”

It takes a moment for Zhao to react, but his turn away from the map is punctuated with his surprise. “Tribes?”

“The Southern Watertribe still exists, Zhao. Seems your patrols do not go as far south as they report.”

A muscle twitches in the commander’s neck. “Or those peasants have adopted the air nomads’ ways. I can almost commend their desire not to become extinct. Well, they haven’t troubled us thus far, unless… Do they have any Waterbenders?”

“No.” Zuko isn’t sure why he lies, only that he doesn’t have to think about his answer.

But Zhao, unfortunately, now knows how right he is. The terror attacks plaguing Fire Nation colonies make little sense for Earth Kingdom rebels. The watertribe are a people of justice, not revenge. Earth Kingdom attacks are petty and gruesome – reducing barracks, markets, bazaars and Fire Nation frequented restaurants, tea shops and rest stops to rubble. Zuko can’t blame them, they alone have opposed the Fire Nation the longest. But the Watertribes would never condone such violence. It draws too many eyes for too little result, daring the Fire Nation to act, to crush insurrection.

Is the waterbender leading them? She was certainly defiant enough. But in those moments when she had a firebender alone, surrounded by her element, she could have crushed him, and chose instead to throw herself onto the coals for a child.

Zhao turns back to his map, stroking his chin. “Perhaps a watertribe warrior has decided to enter the fray. He’d have to be a savage one.”

“If it is a man,” Iroh intones without looking away from his inspection of the spears.

Zuko’s gut wrenches. How could his uncle be so stupid? He’s going to expand Zhao’s worldview too far, drive him further south. The Avatar’s location is unknown, but Zhao needs to stay as far from discovering him as possible.

“Interesting.” Zhao swivels again, this time to Iroh. “What makes you think a woman could lead the Watertribes?”

“Why do we assume it is a man? Could be a woman. Could be a group of individuals for all we know, which would go a long way toward explaining the discordant nature of these new attacks.” His uncle turns to him. “Prince Zuko, what do you think?”

“Don’t befuddle the Prince with complex theoreticals,” Zhao crows defensively. “Make it a yes or no.” He claps a pitying, dismissive hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “Behind his stoic demeanour, he’s an honest, uncomplicated, boy. You should know that, General Iroh.”

Zuko sits there and takes it.

Zhao turns away. “In any manner, Iroh, you’re forgetting the Watertribes are highly patriarchal. Their identity as a people centres around the duty of the husband, father, warrior, while the daughters, sisters, and mothers maintain the home and traditions of the people. The most blood one of their soft-hearted girls could stomach is if they prick their fingers with one of their primitive bone needles while stitching.”

The waterbender looked more than ready to go for Zuko’s throat on the ship deck.

“Hunting, skinning, gutting catches. Physically strenuous, gruelling tasks performed by men. Tasks they don’t let their women perform, even if they are capable.”

More than capable.

“So, you see, it can’t be a woman leading these attacks because no roughneck coldie would follow a man or woman who has never brought down a Sabretooth Ice Moose Lion.”

Iroh smiles cleverly. “So, these attacks truly can’t be Watertribe?”

Zuko sips his tea, else Zhao see his jaw drop in awe of his uncle. Reminding Zhao of the Northern Watertribe’s limitations is true genius. And now, as Zhao chuckles, turning back to the map, his prejudice will cement even deeper and he’ll return to the task at hand.

“Maybe it’s an Earth Kingdom rebel who has finally learned something from years of fighting such a superior force.”

“Or one of the haiku prodigies of Ba Sing Se taking their poetry to new extremes,” Iroh adds, teeth gritted around the forced malice.

Zhao’s too much of an idiot to realise the subtle compliment. “No, a miner who, dare I say, has finally forsaken his terror of metal and developed the skills to use a shovel?” Zhao barks a laugh. “I’d give away one of my concubines just to see-”

“If you two are done discussing Zhao’s future as a courtly comic, I’d like to return to my ship,” Zuko cuts Zhao off, putting his tea down.

Zhao and Iroh share a grin before Zhao approaches Zuko’s chair. “Your recommendation, Prince Zuko?”

“It is your job to govern this region, Zhao, not mine.”

Iroh frowns disapprovingly. Yes, in the future it will be Zuko’s royal duty. A future that will not exist if Zuko doesn’t get back on the Avatar’s trail.

“Of course.” Zhao clears his throat. “Unlike their propaganda and route sabotages, the brutality is quite simple to counter. Earth Kingdom or not, the issue is a simple reply. Our spies and more elite kill teams, the Yuyan archers for example, are prepared for tactical strikes on several supposed terrorist cells. My forces will strike now. There is no point in bothering Fire Lord Ozai with this. As all powerful as our Sovereign is, he has not been in the south for a long time. I have.”

“A fool pulls the leaves. A brute chops the trunk. A sage digs the roots.” Iroh strokes his beard reflectively. “Something Sunblood once said to my father. It’s engraving still graces the hall of the Ever-Burning Flame in the palace, despite his desertion.”

Iroh lets a moment of silence fill the tent.

“Striking the Earth Kingdom, no matter how tight the information is, will do nothing except fill the ears and eyes of the locals with petty violence. Political plays tire everyone but the hands of poets who write them. One hundred years we’ve been fighting, Zhao, and Ba Sing Se still remains unbent. Our strategy must change.”

A true Fire Nation soldier, Zhao physically recoils at the idea of a non-violent approach. But as Iroh placidly stares him down, he considers. “With every act of mindless violence, the Fire Lord grows wearier of my campaign here.”

“You command these armies,” Iroh expertly feeds Zhao’s ego. “Not the North, or back West where our power is strongest. Here is far, our grip weaker, yet you still hold. What does he expect?”

“Results.” Zhao turns back to the map. “I will poison the Earth Kingdom’s roots. I want suicide earthquakers, not Fire Nation burners. Find the ugliest, nastiest, Earth Kingdom benders, hold their families hostage, and threaten to kill their sons and daughters if the benders do not do as we command. Focus on earthquakes and rockslides in popular areas, high youth density as well as capital cities of trade.

“No women benders. I want the social divide in the Earth Kingdom that benefits us with the Watertribe. Women against violence, even violence against innocent Fire Nation colonies. Urban areas too. Not just Earth Benders. I want green Fire Nation troops sent to quell the violence getting caught in the crossfire. Then we’ll see if the other nations still fight us.”

Zuko’s scar throbs. How little life costs here. Just words in the air.

“You plan to alienate Earthbenders from the other elements, then alienate the rebels from the Earth Kingdom.” Iroh sounds equally impressed and appalled.

Zhao revels in it. “By years end, the Earth Kingdom capital will be under our rule.” He turns his back to the map, smug satisfaction deepening the lines under the beard. “The Fire Lord will finally claim victory in this war.”

“If my father thinks the rest of the world will follow him willingly, then he is a fool.” Zuko can’t hold back any longer. Maybe when he’s his uncle’s age he’ll be better at containing his disgust. 

Zhao’s boots stop beside his chair. “Seven years at sea have done little to temper your tongue. You’re squirming like a red panda-pup.”

Zuko has no choice but to speak, being addressed so openly, so he does it confidently. “This will make matters worse. The Earth Kingdom Rebels are a nuisance, but hardly our chief plight. If you do this, you will be pouring fuel on the flames, and sacrificing our men in the process.”

“Ah, yes. Our duty to our men.” Zhao’s hand falls on the back of Zuko’s chair, brushing his ruined ear.

“You’ll be as guilty as the rebels themselves. A terrorist against our Nation,” Zuko says through gritted teeth.

“There is no guilt.” Zhao leans down, words sneering across Zuko’s burned cheek. “Not when you’re the judge.”

Zuko turns minutely, just enough to make Zhao think he’s about to stand and back off. “The Fire Nation’s imperative, the reason we started this war, is because we are the best guide for mankind. My Great-great-grandfather wanted to share our wealth, order, and stability. These rebels are anarchists. Their cause is chaos. We should use that as our weapon. Not soldiers in the night. Earthquakers amongst children.”

“We should aspire to a higher purpose?” Zhao sighs. “Idealism. An admirable trait of the young, Prince Zuko, if a blind one.”

“Do not talk down to me, Commander,” Zuko growls, gripping the arms of his chair. “Your plan should be less brutal.”

“Brutality.” Zhao lets the word hang in the air. “It is neither evil nor good. It is the adjective to the Fire Nation, an action. Our way of life. You’ve been away too long if you’ve forgotten that, Prince Zuko. What you must parse is the nature of that life. Is it evil or good to stop terrorists who attack innocents?”

“Good,” Zuko growls after a moment’s hesitation.

“Then what do our methods matter so long as we harm fewer innocents then they will harm if we continue to allow them to exist?” Zhao steeples his long fingers together. “And, as commander, I get to decide how long they will exist for. Now, enough of this lesson. How is your hunt for the Avatar going?”

The weapons display Iroh ponders crashes to the ground. Metal shrieks its protest as it clatters to the stone floor. Zhao turns, giving Zuko enough space to breathe, prepare, and silently thank his profusely apologising uncle. “We haven’t found him yet.”

“Did you really expect to?” Zhao says as he scrutinizes Iroh’s fixing of the weapon stand. “The Avatar died a hundred years ago, unless you found Air nomads too?” He draws in the laugh, but stops, and Zuko knows his tight shoulders didn’t go unnoticed. “Unless you have found some evidence the Avatar is alive?”

“No.” The denial comes out too quickly. “Nothing.”

“Prince Zuko, the Avatar is the only one who can stop the Fire Nation from winning this war.” This time he comes around the chair, facing Zuko. “If you have an ounce of loyalty left, you’ll tell me what you have found.”

“I did that already. After seven years, the only discovery I’ve made, under your watch in your jurisdiction, was a whole tribe the Southern Raiders claimed to have eradicated.” His turn to relish the flicker of annoyance in Zhao. “It’s like you said. The Avatar probably died a long time ago. Come on, Uncle, we’re going.”

Spears bar his way. Zhao’s guards cross the exit, breaking only to allow a guard from outside to enter. He strides past as if the Prince of his Nation were a green recruit, going to Zhao’s side and bowing deferentially. “Commander Zhao, we interrogated the crew as you instructed. They confirmed Prince Zuko had the Avatar in custody but let him escape.”

Zhao’s smile coats his words as his breath coats Zuko’s burned ear again. “Now remind me how, exactly, was your ship damaged?”

~ ~ ~

The Winter Solstice, Part Two

Katara whips around as he opens the door. He freezes halfway in, unsure suddenly if she’ll want to see him. Blue eyes narrow, and once again he feels he’s done something wrong. “What has been going on up there?”

Deciding she won’t throw him out, at least not immediately, Zuko comes fully in. “We suffered an attack.”

“We were attacked?” She misses him freezing at her use of _we,_ too consumed with the battle she missed. “How?” Then, brighter. “Was it Aang?”

His elation extinguishes quicker than if she’d thrown water over him. “We came across a Fire Nation blockade. Nothing serious happened.”

“Nothing serious?” Her arms flap to encompass the box surrounding her. “I could feel the heat through the metal!”

“You weren’t hurt?”

She blinks, caught off guard by the out-of-character question. “No, and that’s not the point. Why was a Fire Nation blockade shooting at you?”

“They don’t like me.” He adds a shrug when it seems his answer doesn’t suffice, guessing by her twitching eyebrow. “I’m banished, as in, not allowed to come back.”

“So why have you sailed into Fire Nation waters?” Her dusky cheeks pale. “You’re not… I’m not being handed over to your dad or-”

“No!” He gawks, horrified with her or himself, he can’t tell, with how quickly she can fear him. “No, no. I’d never let… I’m going off ship for a few days. I’ll be back, but until then, Uncle will play Pai Sho with you.”

She blinks, processing his words. “Play Pai Sho? What’re you-? Never mind. Where are you going?”

“Off ship.”

“Where off ship are you going?” she clarifies through gritted teeth.

“Why do you care?”

“Classified, got it.” Grumbling, she shakes her head. “You get to go off chasing my friends, be part of the real world instead of stuck in a metal box, and I get to keep rotting in the box.”

He knew she hated it here, yet his heart still twists as if she’d said it right to his scarred face. “I’m sorry about that, and about… before.”

She chokes on air, swivelling from her descent onto the bed and almost falling over. “You’re what? Since when are you-” She cuts herself off, eyes narrowing. “You’re in your armour. And you’re leaving as we enter Fire Nation waters. And right before you do that, you come here and say you’re sorry. What’s going on, Zuko? Where are you going?”

Of course, she’d never accept his apology. Why should she? He’s done nothing but keep her captive from her friends, interrogate her, lock her up, keep her from her element. Coming here before he took the ship out was a mistake.

Before the melancholy can overwhelm him, she stops his heart with two words.

“Don’t go.” She shakes her head when he stares at her, and his breath catches when he realises emotion wells in her eyes. “It’s Zhao, isn’t it? You don’t get this desperate unless he’s involved. Desperate Zuko is a stupid Zuko and going off alone is definitely stupid. What are you thinking? Is capturing Aang worth your life?”

He’s stunned silent, staring down at her. She hasn’t said his name this many times in her whole capture. Each time she does his heart slams against his ribs.

“You can’t fight him and his men on your own, Zuko. You’re not invincible. I know you think your divine destiny makes you think you are, but you’re not. You’ll find that out if you go on this suicide mission. You’ll leave. You’ll find out you’re not as strong as you think you are, and I’ll be alone.”

He can’t breathe. Armoured plates clamp his chest as Katara’s words fill and expand his heart to bursting. Pushing and pulling. Staying or going. His own father sent him away, and here she is begging him not to go. He’s being torn apart on the spot as she stares up at him, pleading him to say something.

“Uncle likes the white lotus manoeuvre,” he croaks before fleeing from the cell.

~ ~ ~

Ten Months Previously:

The Southern Air Temple

Zuko’s hands shake like they did when his mother took him into the jungles surrounding Ember Island. Now, as then, serpents surround him.

He could hear them, the Komodo vipers. Could rarely see them. Black as pupils, they slither in shadows until they strike. But there’s a fear that comes when they near. A fear separate from the endless jungle. Separate from the throbbing, nauseating heat that builds in the balls as he trekked through the fathomless dark, friction radiating from his oppressive robes, clutching his mother’s hand. It’s fearing the coming of death. Like a shadow passing over his soul.

It filled him then, it filled him when he knelt before his father seven years ago, and it fills him now as Zhao’s soldiers stand around him, a mass of serpentine red and gold. Whispering. Hissing. Deadly.

Sand washed bloody by the sunset crunches under his knees. He kneels as the Fire Sage speaks. He tells of honour and tradition. How martial duels mark the greatness of their race. Unlike the cowardly air nomads, their words of peace lost to their frivolous element, the Fire Nation settle flesh to flesh. Bone to bone. Flame to flame. Vendettas die in the burning place.

No doubt Zhao has already spoken to his advisors. They will say Zuko is outmatched, Zhao the better bender. It never would have gone this far if Zhao hadn’t been assured a beneficial outcome.

And, as with their ancestors, it is now and again, to burning.

The Fire Sage asks for any contentions. Neither Zuko nor Zhao say a thing. Iroh wants to but respects why Zuko needs to do this.

Actions, not words. The adjective to their nation.

Zhao kneels at the other end of the arena. He is bare-chested and barefoot, traditional cape draped over his shoulders. Zuko knows because he wears the same.

“Remember your firebending basics, Prince Zuko.” His uncle looks across the burning place to Zhao’s bent back. “They are your greatest weapons here.”

Zuko lifts his head, catching his uncle’s eye. “I refuse to let him win.”

The cape drops from his shoulders as he stands, turning into the burning place and his opponent. Zhao is already standing, watching them.

From the corner of Zuko’s eye Uncle takes a slip of parchment from his sleeve, words scribbled and incomprehensible from the distance, and tosses it into the burning brazier. But unlike most of his uncle’s prayers, Zuko knows this won’t be a remembrance of thanks. For the first time in a long time, he knows his uncle will be asking instead of giving.

The gong rings.

Fire licks behind Zuko as he throws his arms down, pulls them up and directs the blast at Zhao in twin whips of burning. He moves out of the way, sliding back to avoid another from Zuko. The watching soldiers bellow, but as the fire roars, the shouts fade away and all eyes widen as man-killing heat screams across the sand. Zhao harnesses the immoveable brutality of their element. Feet planted, he crosses his arms in front of him and takes Zuko’s blast head on. With a savage chopping of his arms he destroys the flames. Through the dissipating heat, he smirks.

The duellists are the only sound in this Nation away from their home. The crackling, whip-like snap of the fire. The thrum of the heat. The shifting sand and billowing of cloth.

Despite his arrogance, Zhao is perfect in his form. His feet shuffle, never crossing; his hips swivel as he lunges, feet planting and restoring his root before Zuko can close and chop. His breath comes measured and paced. His flames swell over the dry ground in twin arcs, pushing away Zuko’s next attack. He does it again in the face of Zuko’s flaming kick, settles his feet, hands burning and ready.

“Basics, Zuko!” his uncle cries at the side lines. “Pull his roots!”

Zhao ferociously pushes his advantage. Zuko recognises the engagement but is too slow, thrown back by the force of the attack. It’s all he can do to divert the flames around him. He feels Zhao’s step through the sand, cementing his root. He locks his wrists and fires before Zuko can find his own. He falls in favour of letting the fire consume him, but when he looks up, Zhao is plummeting from a rapid close. He lands at Zuko’s feet, erects himself and thrusts his fist forward to deliver the final blow.

“Do you hear that?” Zhao’s barely out of breath. “That is the sound of failing again. No one to weep. No one to care.”

“His root, Zuko!”

Zhao’s flames flicker fast. Trained. Honed by masters of the Nation. It’s easy to see why he has devastated his opponents, risen in the ranks. Because his enemies follow the example of power Zhao lives by. They learn his new techniques and fight like him, but slower.

Zuko doesn’t fight like them. He learned that lesson seven years ago. Now Zhao will learn his. And remember his basics.

Zuko roars like some burning carnivore of the humid jungles and rolls. His feet swipe Zhao’s out from underneath him. Sand sprays as he slams his feet back under him. Fire surges under Zhao’s steps, driving him back further.

Zuko presses, directing his attacks at Zhao’s feet now, peeling him apart until his balance is a shred of the once precise footwork. He doesn’t move in the strict sets of four blasts of fire, but two, then six, then five. Purposefully becoming stagnant, then breaking pattern. Never giving Zhao a chance to assess his moves.

Zuko was taught to dance by his mother, and to fight by the Dragon of the West.

He rages and spins, feet fluid and never breaking contact with the ground, beating as a great hurricane slapping and smashing and hammering Zhao back. And when Zhao attacks he bows to the side until such a time he can snap back and break him, as his uncle trained him to do.

Move in a circle. Never retreat backward. No attack opens when a man allows himself to be pushed backward.

Zhao barely pushes Zuko’s kick out of the way, staggering back. Zuko lets him, whips around and kicks again with a roar of force and momentum. Zhao slams to his back, riveting the sand.

Zuko closes, stretching his arm out over Zhao’s sneering face.

“Do it!” Heat and smoke bloom like an opening fire lily, and fires into the sand beside Zhao’s head. He stares at the crater. “That’s it? Your father raised a coward!”

Zuko pants, the quelling of his rage a harder battle than the one Zhao gave. “Next time you get in my way, I promise, I won’t hold back.”

~ ~ ~

The Winter Solstice, Part Two

Zuko tongues at his bleeding lip as he glares up at Zhao. The Commander's eyes track the lip, the bruise Zuko feels swelling on his cheek, the blood trickling down the side of his head, and sneers gleefully. Luckily, Zuko's armour protected him from any serious injury when the Avatar tossed him down the stairs, though he left a dented vambrace behind in his haste to keep the Avatar from reaching the inner temple.

He failed, and now has to suffer Zhao's gloating, chained to a pillar as soldiers and Fire Sages wait for the door to open. Across the temple, the Avatar's companion glares at him, but he's easy enough to ignore.

Fire Sage Shyu kneels, suffering Zhao’s full attention. “Why did you help the Avatar?”

“Because it was once the sages' duty. It is still our duty,” Shyu answers without hesitation, straight backed on his knees.

Zhao’s lip curls. “What a moving and heartfelt performance. I'm certain the Fire Lord will understand when you explain why the Fire Sages betrayed him.”

The five standing sage’s pale. “But Commander, only Shyu aided the Avatar.”

“Silence!” Zhao snaps. He takes a few breaths to calm himself. “Save your stories for the Fire Lord. As far as I'm concerned, you are _all_ guilty!”

 _You always get desperate when Zhao's involved._ Now is not the time to be distracted by Katara, but he can't help it. _You care about the prosperity of the Fire Nation._ All _of the Fire Nation._

“Leave them be, Zhao!” Zuko roars in a desperate attempt to be what she foolishly believes him to be. He earns a sharp strike to his scarred cheek. Stars and blinding pain burst across his skull.

Her brother's fury is unsympathetic and so like hers, only missing a certain... something. Something that is inherently, solely, Katara. Maybe Sokka hasn't spent enough time with him to truly know how to hate him beyond blind prejudice yet.

"Where's my sister?" the Watertribe youth demands for the tenth time.

Yes, you idiot, how about I tell you where my ship is in front of Zhao so he can finish stealing the Avatar and take her from me too. Zuko shakes his head, returning his attention to the inner chamber.

"Answer me!"

But Zhao is watching. Not the watertribe boy. Zhao's prejudice runs so deep, Sokka is less than a person to him. More a sack of meat holding his bones and brain together. Not worth the breath it would take to tell him to shut up.

Zhao watches Zuko, hateful eyes sharp. Zuko stares back at him, gives nothing but his utmost loathing for the Fire Nation Commander, until the man returns his attention to the chamber doors. “A cowardly Sage and a banished Prince. Two traitors in one day, the Fire Lord _will_ be pleased.”

“Gloat all you want, Zhao, you’re too late. The Avatar’s inside and the doors are sealed.”

Zhao laughs down at him. “No matter. Sooner or later he has to come out. We’ll be ready for him.” He turns to the Fire Sages not on their knees. “When those doors open, unleash all your firepower!”

Soldiers and Sages surround the chamber door in a semicircle. Through the gaps in the bodies a glow radiates through the door and floor. Smoke streams through the cracks into the antechamber, blanketing their legs in a hazy cloak as the door groans ponderously open.

Light bursts from the chamber. Zhao gives the order, and Zuko’s blinded by an onslaught of heat and colour. He presses his scarred cheek into the stone pillar, heart jacking into the next stratosphere as a wall of fire erupts.

And reveals Avatar Roku.

~ ~ ~

Ten Months Previously:

The Southern Air Temple

Uncle beams with pride and makes the battle easier. His steps land surer as he makes to leave the burning place. But the pride slips, and Zuko’s heart wrenches.

Uncle’s steps slam into the sand. Heat lances across Zuko’s face. He embarrassed him, was too brutish and now-

Iroh’s fist slams into the foot Zhao’s about to kick into the unburned side of Zuko’s face, quenching the flames in an instant. Zhao’s tossed away before Zuko finishes turning, but when he tries to lunge, his uncle holds him back.

“No, Prince Zuko. Don’t taint this victory.” Only Zuko is close enough to see the way his uncle’s hands shake with rage as they disappear into his sleeves. “So, this is how the great Commander Zhao acts in defeat. Disgraceful. Even in exile, my nephew is more honourable than you.” Zuko looks at his uncle. “Thanks again for the tea. It was delicious.”

His uncle leads them from the arena. Zuko can’t speak until they’re out of the camp, away from the oppressive heat. When he sees their patched ship and the water, he finds his heartrate slowing at the calming waves. “Did you really mean what you said, Uncle?”

Iroh glances at him from the corner of his eye. “Of course. I told you, Ginseng tea is my favourite.”

Zuko steps off Fire Nation won ground, and smiles.

~ ~ ~

The Winter Solstice, Part Two

Zhao’s horror matches Zuko’s own. Two Avatar’s? His father will be beside himself when he learns of this development. Except, where is the Airbender?

Roku kneels into what Zuko knows is a firebending forward strike. Molten fire melts through the floor, a screaming trail of lava bubbling up until it erupts. Soaring towers of lava explode throughout the temple, tearing the stone apart as if it were paper.

Zhao and his firebenders flee, nothing Zuko wouldn’t expect of a man who would strike another behind his back in the Burning Place.

Recognising those glowing eyes as the Avatar state, he’s been on the receiving end of it enough times to know, Zuko doesn’t think twice when his chains evaporate around him. Searing pain lances across his naked arm, molten iron hissing when it meets soft flesh. Sprinting from the antechamber, every pump of his arms burning, open wound stinging and sensitive to the air. Zuko barely sees where he’s going, only that outside is the goal as the temple collapses around him.

He see’s the Fire Sages wailing ahead of him, their world falling apart, threatening to crush them. He sees soldiers in the entourage. And Zhao, that ugly, traitorous bastard. He runs harder. Legs numb with exhaustion. Lungs aching. Arm burning. Half of Zhao’s platoon wait at end of the hall, stationed guards left to guard the retreat as Zhao disappears down the steps. A faceless mask turns as Zuko nears. Behind the white skull visage his eyes flash wide, then disappear in the burst of Zuko’s blazing strike. He lets out a scream as Zuko passes. More turn – hand maidens, men, warriors, guards, ship hands and stewards Zuko recognises from his days as son and heir to the Fire Lord.

Their realization of his presence comes in waves. The enemy is supposed to be locked in the chamber, not amongst them, so they flinch in seeing him. And when they gather their wits, he’s already past their armoured hands. He dodges a guard’s outstretched grip, lashes back, hits metal with his bare fist. Fingers come back numb and shaking.

Shouts. Fumbling for swords. Fire snaps past his head. Zhao turns, stunned at the blasts scorching the wall by his head, eyes widening further when they register the banished prince charging towards him.

“Fire! Fire on the Fire Lord’s son!”

Six concentrated rockets scream towards him. Zuko’s good eye bugs wide and, without thinking, he skids right and down a corridor he’s lucky was there. His ear singes. Tears sting but his face is numb. He runs through darkened hallways but all he can see is the fire screaming towards his face. All he hears is his ragged breathing and the rumbling of the temple.

Until a hole opens up in the wall. The sea rolls peacefully beyond, a giant, beautiful blue eye tired of his excuses when she beats him at Two Lies and a Truth. Crushed diamonds glitter behind his blinks. All his strength bleeds into this last mad dash.

_I won’t die here. I won’t leave you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty please let me know your thoughts and feedback because I would love to know if I’m doing a good job!! It only takes a second and it would be greatly appreciated!! Reading all your wonderful comments keeps me writing as I plough on for Book Two.
> 
> Kudos always welcome, likes, dislikes, comments and complaints. Let me know what you guys think because I love reading them and finding out about you guys!


	9. The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another piece of my Heart and Soul for you!
> 
> As always, you guys are amazing! I can't put into words how much I love to hear from you guys!! It really motivates me to keep going, keeps me motivated and keeps me writing this fic! And thank you for bearing with me with through the restructure. I know it wasn't strictly necessary, but I like to keep my continuity consistent XD
> 
> Everyone who reads this, all my lovely Kudos giving superstars, please let me know what you thought of this chapter! Knowing I’ve done a good job means the world to me and keeps me pressing on into Book Two!!!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

~ ~ ~

Two Months Previously:

Imprisoned

Sokka and Aang never asked, talked about, or mentioned Jet, ever. For that, Katara would wash all the dirty socks and make all the separate dinners the vegetarian and carnivore could ask for. Except they’re also going out to forage, taking turns pitching the tent, shedding Appa, chasing down Momo to make sure he isn’t getting fleas, and Katara’s a little less grateful.

She’s never dealt well with idle time. Every lax second, she counts down until Aang and Sokka grow bored or does one of her chores wrong so she can do it again, the right way. Meditating might work for people like Aang when stress and trauma threaten to overwhelm them, but if she doesn’t over-function her body, her mind will crawl deeper into the dark pit Jet’s cruelty left in her soul and drag her down with it.

But she’s careful not to hover, micromanage, or criticize. It’s not in her nature to nag, she hopes. Idleness creates too much time to think, remember, drag her deeper into the ghost of a touch, the flame which wants to flicker, desperate not to go out.

Maybe that’s why she latches onto Haru. Sweet and genuine, governed by his pain but not moulded by it like Jet. She can’t bring herself to feel bad when he tries to take her hand and she shies back, hiding her shiver of revulsion behind a quick shoulder pat and forced, tittering laugh. She isn’t ready for something like that again, even the idea of it. Haru lives constantly in fear, aches for his missing father, but even when he hides his bending Katara finds his fear more truthful than hate.

And he’s nice. When she has to have the concept of money explained to her, he does it gently as he picks his mother’s discarded copper pieces from the floor. When he leads her, Aang, and her brother to the market he keeps them away from the stalls and sides of town reserved for the Fire Nation soldiers. They can legally go to those areas, but two watertribe citizens so far south would draw enough eyebrows without Aang tagging along. She just hopes the soldiers don’t decide they want to slum it the same time as their shopping trip with Haru.

She knows he’s not hiding behind a nice façade when he lets the opportunity for any mocking jabs she once mistook for charm slide as the store peddlers shout in numbers and acronyms she doesn’t understand. No smirks at her expense when she offers some nuts in exchange for a bag and is laughed away from the stall.

Such commotion doesn’t exist in the Southern Watertribe. She comes from a life of trading goods, furs, services, and food. It is strange being in a crowd where no one knows her face or cares for her purpose. In the Southern tribe, women she grew up with would have jostled her, young boys Sokka trained would run across her path. Here, Earth Kingdom citizens slam into her and offer not even a faint apology. It might not be the biggest city, but she does not like it. If not for Sokka and Aang, she’d feel so alone.

She could offer her services, maybe draw water from the morning grass for a thirsty vender. But Zuko’s rasped warning always lingers at the back of her mind and makes her feel only a little hypocritical when she encourages Haru to Earthbend.

This town is his home. These are his people. She thought the risk wasn’t as great for him. She was wrong.

~ ~ ~

The Storm

Iroh’s swift departure from the cell breaks the reverie concentrating on her Pai Sho tiles put her in. All she’s gone through, how it brought her to this box, and the boy with a scar who chased her the whole way. From one prison cell to another. All the way back then, she was thinking about him.

She blinks at the space across the table Iroh once occupied, wondering when the old man learned to move so quickly. Probably grew board of her wondering moves and split focus, but her head just wasn't in the game.

She was too worried about Zuko.

They were approaching the third day he'd gone chasing Aang or Zhao. It didn't matter who. Another foolish attempt to prove he was worthy of being Ozai's son. Iroh thought as much so. She'd been somewhat of a stress relief for the old man these last few days, her cell a safe place to vent his frustrations. It wasn't until she was staring at her completed winter stance strategy consuming his white lotus, stunned at her victory, did she realise how deep Iroh's worry for his nephew ran.

Picking at her barely touched dinner, Katara slumps against the wall. Since when did she fret over Zuko's safety? The prince was an uppity, self-righteous ponce, but he could handle himself. Of course, whenever he had to, he was surrounded by his guards. Like her trapped on this boat, he went into this danger alone. Just the thought of him out there by himself tugs on her heart.

Stupid boy, she decides, trying to shake off her own foolishness as well. It's as she does the door opens. As if she'd conjured him, Zuko strides in.

She drops her forkful of noodles and curried fish. "Zuko!" Jumping up, she practically chases him back to the door when he retreats from surprise. But she's already grabbing his wrists, anchoring him to her as she looks up at his wide, surprised eyes. An ugly, engorged bruise encompasses the swollen left to almost shut. "You're hurt."

He blinks, the right does at least. Disgust from the obvious targeted strikes to the left side of his face fills Katara. Zhao deepens her resident loathing of him another few feet, warring with the knee quivering relief crashing into her as Zuko finally stands there, in front of her. Back in arms reach again.

Zuko, unable to gauge the situation, stammers, “I... fell.”

“You _fell_? Fell where, down a mountain? Have you seen your face?”

That was a mistake. Though she didn’t mean his scar, he flinches anyway, waving his hand when she stammers to apologise. “Fell down the stairs. Was thrown. It doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”

Except when he tries to dismiss her worries again, she sees the mess of skin and burned cloth mottling his right arm. “Zuko!” She grabs his wrist again, gently turning the injured limb in her grasp as she fully assesses the damage. Accidentally, she draws a hiss of pain. “You haven’t had this looked at yet.”

Hesitation gives way to shyness in the sharp downward trajectory of his eyes, like a parachute failing to open. “I didn’t... have time.”

“Have time? What do you-” She looks past his injuries for the first time, seeing he’s still in his armour. Blood spatters the high neck and crusts around the wounds to his face and arm, not even attempted to be cleaned or seen to. He came straight to her.

Her traitorous heart gives three wild thumps before she schools her face into one of scorn. “Send for some water, a rag, willow bark tea, sellin sap and bandages.”

He quirks his right eyebrow at her. “I’m not bringing water in here for you to-”

“And a guard. If you’re going to be all jumpy, fine, but be jumpy while I take care of this.” She gestures over the cracked, twisted mess of his arm. If she looked up, she’d see the stunned way he watches her worry over him. About him. “And tweezers too. What did you do, get burned then roll about in the dirt?”

“Jumped out a window, actually,” he grumbles as he heads for the door.

He returns, arms full of her requested supplies minus the tea, which is carried in by Uncle Iroh and the first smile she's seen on his face in three days.

Iroh sets up his brewing station while Zuko diligently lays out each item she requested. There's a deeply bred care in the way the two firebenders go about their work, while Katara washes her hands and cuts the cloth Zuko brought into strips. Iroh watches her curiously as the fire in his burner flares then soothes.

"Do you know how to heal, miss Katara?"

"I learned under my grandmother," Katara says. Something about her answer causes a look to pass Iroh’s face. Perhaps he needed more information before he was comfortable letting her work on Zuko. "Nothing as extensive as the surgeries, but I was taught how to treat sprains, cuts and bumps on the head, and those were all just on Sokka."

Iroh smiles. Zuko doesn't, but he nods and goes back to unbuckling his shoulder guards, chest piece coming off next. Carefully, he peels the ruined sleeve of his undershirt from his arm. Blood cakes him to the elbow, but the burn only seems localised to his forearm.

She gets to work washing the blood, soot, and dirt away from the wound. Zuko hisses at the cool water, muscles in his arm flexing under her working fingers. "You'd think there wouldn't be a lot of burns to treat in the poles but-"

"Why would I think that?" Zuko looks up from his arm. "Or did you not light fires to ward off the cold?"

Two months ago, she'd have thought him being sarcastic, biting at her with his superior cultural understanding, understanding the world beyond his own home. But he waits for her answer, patient and curious. After so much time spent together learning about the Watertribe, he's only seeking to understand more. With her. Not against.

And with that comes the realisation that almost causes Katara to drop the bowl she's setting up as her workstation. Zuko trusts her.

Wound flaking, blood seeping between cracks of horribly twisted skin of his arm, waits for her treatment. He may still hesitate to bring any water near her, she'd think him foolish or be insulted he thought her so weak if he didn't, but he doesn't flinch back when her fingers carefully tread the inflamed skin around the wound, seeking out swelling and where his pain starts.

"You need to tell me when it hurts," she tests. Zuko's never so much as shown her when he's happy, let alone be vulnerable enough to admit he's in pain.

Iroh pretends he's not paying attention, watching his nephew from the corner of his eye.

"There," Zuko grunts when she presses on his skin an inch from the wound. "But only a little."

A steaming cup of willow bark is pressed into his hand by his uncle. "Drink. If not for your pain, then for the tremors. It is not fair to make miss Katara work on such an unstable surface." Zuko grumbles but sips at the tea. "Miss Katara, I brought some jasmine as well. Would you care for a cup?"

"That would be wonderful, General."

"Uncle, if it pleases you."

Zuko chokes, cheeks flaming when they both turn to look at him. He tries to wave them off, until Katara grips his arm. "Ow! That hurts!”

His yelling doesn’t shock her like it used to. “If you held still it wouldn’t hurt!”

Zuko glares at her. “If the avatar would stop running away, I wouldn’t have had to track him to Roku’s temple.”

“This wouldn't have happened at all if you'd left Aang alone."

"I wouldn't have to leave him alone if he'd just come to the fire nation willingly."

"He wouldn't need to go to the fire nation if your great grandfather hadn't started a war."

Zuko goes to open his mouth, catches her and his uncle staring at him, shuts it with a scowl.

Iroh chuckles as he begins work on the new pot. Absently, he lifts his hand slowly, slowly enough for Zuko to move out of his reach if he wished, and gently touches the gash on his right cheek. "How did this happen, nephew?"

"Zhao," Zuko spits as answer.

"When he threw you down the stairs?" Katara asks as she salves his arm with a sellin sap covered bandage.

"That was actually your little airbender." He smirks at her shock. "Not so peaceful after al-ah!" he yelps when she cinches the bandage harder than necessary.

"I'm sure you gave Aang plenty of reason," she says primly, reaching for her stack of dry bandages to close around the wound.

"I assume you were left subject to Zhao's... questioning," Iroh growls, the dangerous timber deepening with Zuko's nod. "That man is a disgrace to the fire nation."

"Agreed," Zuko mutters.

"Agreed. He could learn a thing or two," Katara says as she finishes tying off Zuko's arm. Both firebenders look at her, but her coy smile is for Iroh. He chuckles, Zuko not understanding what passes between them.

"I'm surprised he managed to catch you off guard, Prince Zuko.” There's a bandage leftover. Katara doesn't think as she dunks it in the water bowl, wringing it out as Iroh goes on. “I see we will have to run more of your basics. Malice bleeds like sap from the severed root, and you certainly severed Zhao’s in that Agni-”

Clay shatters on the metal hull. Both Katara and Zuko jump, looking at Iroh’s stunned face. Jasmine tea trickles across the floor from where he dropped his cup. He doesn’t notice, wide eyes locked on Katara’s hand. Zuko turns to see, and practically flies away from where the rag she’d been using to clean the gash at his left temple hovers.

“I’m sorry,” she gasps, even though she doesn’t understand what’s happening.

Zuko’s chest rises and falls. Water trickles down the side of his face, rippling over his scarred cheek. He can’t stop staring at her, gold eyes confused, infuriated, scared.

“No, miss Katara, I am the one who must apologise,” Iroh professes. His gnarled hands fumble to pick clay shards off the floor. “I was startled. My nephew does not let anyone near his-”

“Enough, uncle,” Zuko snaps.

Her eyes flit between them. Normally, Zuko’s temper rises her own from the slumber her people’s teachings instilled in her. But Gran-Gran always said she had a fire in her, and hers can ignite quicker than any watertribe native she’s ever known.

But Zuko can’t meet her gaze, or his uncle’s. Sticking a finger into the spilled tea, he turns his scar away from her as he pretends to focus on evaporating it from the floor, flinching away when his uncle tries to put a comforting hand on his arm.

“Why do you prepare your own tea, Iroh?” Katara asks quickly, too quickly in the awkward silence. Both firebenders look at her, Zuko still being careful to angle his scar away from her. But it means she has a perfect view of his working right eye. Soft, cautious, eternally grateful as Iroh’s own face creases into a smile.

“Ah, I can see why it would be confusing, seeing I could have it sent for at my simplest whim?” Katara nods, consciously not acknowledging the way Zuko is looking at her, letting him savour and collect himself. “Well, for any firebender, heating a pot of water is no difficult task – a few seconds of rage and a rolling boil is achieved. But a rolling boil would spoil my tea, Katara.”

Iroh sparks his burner back to life with a gentle snap of his fingers.

“You see, the secret to a good cup of tea is not in the fire, but often in the temperature of the water.” She receives a pointed look she chooses to smile politely at and pretend to miss the point of. “Jasmine, Green, and White tea tend to need a medium to high flame. Go any higher than that, and you’ll scald the leaves and wind up with bitter tea. Let it steep for too long, and it’ll scald anyway. So, you see, you can’t just boil the spirits out of it and walk away; to be really good, a cup of tea needs a lower temperature and a softer flame.”

Iroh pours a fresh cup and holds it out to his nephew. “It needs patience and attention.” After some hesitation, Zuko takes it with an embarrassed nod. Iroh pours another and holds it out for Katara. She almost drops it due to its heat, forgetting firebender fingers are basically steel. “It takes balance and understanding.”

“There are only two cups, uncle,” Zuko comments around a sip.

“You drink, Iroh, please,” Katara insists, fighting off a blush as her eyes flick to Zuko and accidentally meet his over the rim of his cup.

Iroh presses the cup back into her hands, picks up the teapot and takes off the lid. He holds it up, waiting until Zuko and Katara lift their cups in toast. To what, Katara has no idea, smiling as the three of them drink together.

~ ~ ~

Two Months Previously:

Imprisoned

Getting arrested for an element she doesn’t even bend is far too easy. Raising her voice in front of the stuffy Fire Nation soldiers probably would have done it, but she needed to be taken to where they were keeping the Earthbenders.

Despite knowing Aang and Sokka are right behind her, Katara can’t help but hunch into herself during the cart ride down to the harbour. When she’s loaded onto the prison transport boat, water on all sides, she closes her eyes and lets her blood move in time with the calm, lapping against the hull. It barely helps. There’s so much metal. Beneath her, around her, walking in between their prisoners. She knows fire is the only element which isn’t part of nature; it has to come from the bender itself instead of the earth, the sky, or the water. But if they rise with the sun, burn with its heat, why surrounded themselves with so much cold metal?

They ferry them out as the sun begins to set, across inky water turned violent purple as twilight blends sea and sky together. If the ferry ride was long enough, Katara could have seen where the prison island was then risen her rebellion with the moon. But the rig is visible from the shore, a stab of dark shadow in an endless sunburst sky. They built it so close on purpose, not only as a constant reminder to the Earth Kingdom village, but also a constant torture to those captured. So close to land, yet separated by a bottomless, vast sea. Katara wishes she could feel smug at how ill prepared these firebenders are for her, but she feels so small crammed in between prisoners on the transport vessel.

Sokka and Aang are right behind. She keeps reminding herself until the boat docks in the prisons shadow. They make them climb up before removing their shackles. Katara almost slips, fingers numb against the slick, ice cold metal. When the prisoner below her halts her decent, he's cuffed with a hot fist for holding up the procession.

Everything about this place is a show of force. Bringing metal into the middle of the ocean. Forcing Earthbenders off their land. Look what we can do. Anytime we want. Do as we say, when we say. Or end up here.

The warden epitomises this philosophy, because only the Fire Nation can turn force into a way of life.

"Earthbenders. It is my pleasure to welcome you aboard my modest shipyard. I am your warden." Self-importance drips from the weasel faced man, the goatee not helping Katara picture anything but the twitching, opportunistic nose of a hungry rodent. "I prefer to think of you not as prisoners, but as honoured guests. And I hope you think of me as your humble and caring host."

Fat chance, Katara thinks. Next moment he's snapping a whip of fire at the man to her right because he interrupted his sanctimonious speech with a coughing fit. She glowers as the warden sends the poor man into the depths of this metal beast. “One week in solitary will improve his manners!”

Turning, he spies her disdain before she can hide it. She’ll be next, and she almost wants it if it means ruffling this peacock cats plumage. Instead, the weasel lips pull back in a nastily satisfied grin. “Simply treat me with the courtesy I give you, and we’ll get along famously.”

Prisoners labour with axes and shovels below the walkway the warden leads them down. “You will notice, Earthbenders, that this rig is made entirely of metal. You are miles away from any rock or earth.” He gestures and postulates, and Katara sees none of it. Craning her neck, the ocean disappears from view one step at a time as they descend into the prison yard. “So, if you have any illusions about employing that brutish savagery that passes for bending among you people, forget them. It is impossible.”

Metal gates slam behind Katara. Above her, guards in more metal survey their prison. Even through the many layers of steel, iron and loathing, she can feel the ocean surrounding her. How easily could she flood this yard and all the Fire Nation guards in it if she were better trained? Aang could, but he needed to go into the Avatar State to do it, and Katara shivers from the revulsion the impulse to ask him brings.

“Katara?” a voice across the yard exclaims.

She’s running into Haru’s arms before the word is out of his mouth, previous reservations be damned. She brought him to this place but, thankfully, no thanks to her, this sweet boy is okay. “Haru!”

He grips her tightly, rigid with surprise, before pulling back to hold her at arms legs. He traces her with confused eyes as if trying to decide if she’s truly in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

She bows her head. “It was my fault you got captured. I came to rescue you.”

“So, you got yourself arrested?” His eyes sweep the patrolling guards above. “Katara, you’ve got guts but that’s crazy. You’re a wat-” He cuts himself off, leaning closer to whisper, “You’re a waterbender.”

“You don’t have to whisper, I know,” she teases in a poor attempt to dispel the brevity beginning to swallow her.

“If these guards find out you can waterbend you’ll be in a lot more danger than me. You’re…” Haru shakes his head, laughing at the ridiculousness they’ve found themselves in. “You’re freaking amazing.” She blushes, squashes the treacherous warmth flaring in her stomach when Haru takes her hand. She has no time to repeat past mistakes. “Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

~ ~ ~

The Storm

Katara doesn’t blink as Zuko slams the door to her cell. Stalking to the table, he drops with none of his usual grace, arms crossing over his chest until he winces and shakes his healing right arm.

“What happened, Sunshine?”

“Nothing.” She doesn’t look up from the game she’s playing with herself, smiling at the tiles when he huffs. “Lieutenant Jee is trying to slow us down. He and my uncle think a storm is coming, but there's been a drought for the last week and the sky is beautiful. He’s forgetting who is in charge. When I say we sail, we sail, the lives of the crew be damned. He hates being shackled to this ship but it’s like he wants me to lose the Avatar’s trail.”

“Gee, what’s that like?” She looks up, smiling under her lashes at his scowl. “I find it hard to believe the Lieutenant is actively trying to sabotage you. If you succeed, doesn’t that mean you all go home? Not that I’d want that, of course. I hope he’s sabotaging you.”

These days that kind of teasing coaxes a smile from the testy prince. But today Zuko bleeds frustration as he tensely spins a Pai Sho tile across his nimble firebender fingers. Katara catches herself watching him, grabs hold of her wandering mind trying to conjure up the memory of those fingers gently tilting her chin up to feed her water before it can lead her down a dangerous path.

“You really said the lives of the crew don’t matter?” she asks.

His shoulders squirm up towards his ears. “Not in so many words. But it’s not like they don’t know what they signed up for. A storm shouldn’t stop them.” A far away look overtakes him. He seems suspended in two places. Stuck in this cell with her, lost in a memory. “The Fire Nation doesn’t suffer that kind of weakness.”

She hums again. Zuko’s smart enough to sense her displeasure and keeps his mouth shut. "A storm is definitely coming, but the way."

"How'd you-" He cuts himself off, actually looking at her now, and shakes his head with a rueful chuckle. "Right. Waterbender."

A cooped up Waterbender who barely gets to touch water anymore. Yes, she'd definitely know when a storm was on its way as sure as she knows when the moon will be full.

"And you're in the wrong with the Lieutenant."

"Of course, you'd side with a man you've barely spoken to," Zuko mutters.

"Doesn't mean I'm against you, Sunshine." His scowl deepens. "I'm honestly surprised I have to tell someone who regularly has to face Commander butt breath that being a leader and being a bully are two different things."

Finally, he lets out a real chuckle. More an amused huff, but pride swells in Katara's chest. "It's not butts. It's like a sulphur... And Zhao's bad breath."

She laughs, and Zuko looks ten times lighter. "Better, but I would have thought firebenders would be masters of the verbal burn." Zuko hums instead of jumping on her set up, eyes far away as he looks at his fingers twirling the piece. She can only take so much before she shakes her head and, reaching over, plucks the tile from his fingers. "As much as I derive pleasure from a pained Zuko, enough."

His breath catches, whooshing out again before she can find it odd. "You don't want to play?"

"I don't think you do. You're tense enough." He shuffles uncomfortably, confirming her suspicions. "What do you do to relax?"

"Firebend." He shrugs at her unamused look, but she softens when he looks abashedly at the table. "I've... started to like playing Pai Sho again. It's fun when it's not against my uncle. Meditation works sometimes."

"Meditation it is," she says, ignoring the pink tint to both their cheeks as she stands up. "Let's go to your shrine."

"How do you know I have a shrine?" he asks in amusement from the floor.

"I've met you. You're not exactly indulgent, but you'd never go so far from home without your own dragon."

"I thought our lessons were only on the Southern Watertribe." He’d never say it, but she can see how impressed he is in his gold eyes.

"They were, until you disappeared for three days and Uncle decided to change up my studies."

"Please don't call him uncle," Zuko whines. She agrees it felt odd, her and Zuko couldn't be less related if they tried. And something feels inherently wrong with the implication.

Laughing it off, she holds her hand out to him until he sighs woefully and lets her pull him to his feet.

As always when she leaves the cell, he claps her manacles over her hands, even though they won't actually be going up to the deck. She doesn't fight it, and bounces behind him as he leads her to the meditation chamber he and the other firebenders share. Only, when he opens the door there's a bed in the corner with a singed tapestry hanging over it, and a basin to wash up.

Zuko doesn't meet her eye. "I had a personal shrine installed in my chambers."

Zuko waves to the side of the room and she gasps at the floor to ceiling station dominated by the smoking dragon maw, bookended by two incense burners. A lone cushion sits before the shrine, but Zuko doesn't think twice about pulling his singular pillow from the bed and placing it down next to the plusher seat. What surprises her is when he folds himself down onto the flat pillow, leaving the cushion for her at her leisure.

She studies the shrine a little more first, determined to take in as much detail as possible. “It’s broken,” she notes, gently touching the crack where the carved tooth was once severed from the rest of the shrine.

Zuko’s deep breathing stutters. “I may have smashed the mouth when I was trying to hit the Avatar.”

She turns sharply. “When did you have-”

Of course, when her and Sokka came to save Aang. The same day she was graced with the Fire Prince’s severe presence. Now he looks up at her from the floor, pale cheeks a delicate pink. A picture of sheepish insecurity he tries to pretend isn’t intertwined with his passionate, diligent soul.

Clearing his throat, Zuko gestures to the cushion next to him. Beginning his breathing before she’s fully seated, Zuko inhales for eight, pausing at the zenith before exhaling. Shoulder’s loosen and almost sway at the moment at the top. Zuko’s body becomes no less erect, but somehow unstiffens. Firm, yet flexible. Lithe, yet solid. Like a willow branch in the breeze.

Watching him speeds and slows her heartbeat all at once, deepens her own breathing. Holding her eyes open wastes too much energy. Closing them, she pictures his pale gold eyes in the flickering candlelight behind her own as she breathes in tandem with the dragon.

“Prince Zuko!”

Rapping on his chamber doors startles Katara awake. Was she asleep? Can’t distinguish between murky senses. Zuko’s hand on her arm. She’s back in his cosy chambers. A voice sighs as Zuko hauls himself up and moves to the door. Murmured words make fuzzy imprints in Katara’s brain until Zuko’s chuckle touches that competitive, prideful place in her only he’s capable of reaching.

“First time meditating?” Gold eyes sparkle with a mirth she doesn’t usually get to see.

“It’s the smoke,” she waves off his attempt to help her stand, unfolding her legs but staying on her cushion. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, just something that needs my attention on deck.” Picking up the manacles, he kneels and is about to help her fumbling hands clasp them on when he hesitates. “Or would… would you rather stay here and keep meditating? You seem pretty zenned out.”

Blinks come slow as she smiles. “Sure. You won’t be long?”

It’s his turn to smile. “Hopefully.”

The door locks behind him. Faith does not extend the fragile bonds they’ve made with each other. She knows Zuko would never hurt her, never starve her, or torture her for his own ends. He would have done it long before he brought her to a better cell or took it upon himself to deliver her water if he was planning on it. But their trust does not go beyond locked doors. It’s hard to forget she’s still his prisoner, even if she’s experienced more luxury in her cell then she ever did on the ice.

The ache to be free, to find Aang and Sokka, never goes away. It ebbs to a dull throb as she plays Pai Sho, drinks tea, and watches Zuko go from a petulant sulk to a dull indifferent sulk. Does he know he has a beautiful smile? She does, even if she’s only ever caught glimpses of it.

Savouring his smile feels hypocritical as she settles back on her cushion and faces the Dragon's maw. It glares down at her as if it knows her mind.

Unable to look into its judging eyes, Katara does her best to shrug away her guilt, and lifts her hand towards the incense burners.

~ ~ ~

Gears clunk as the doors mechanism is pulled on harshly. Katara knows the waking process now, pulling herself from the Willow’s breathing techniques with much more ease as the door opens. It's much easier with the air clear, her vision no longer fuzzy as she greets Zuko with a nod.

"It's raining," he exclaims as he turns and shuts the door. Old habits. She almost wishes it could stay that way. “You were right!”

“And you’re surprised?” She is. He’s rarely this jubilant, preferring his half grins that touch his sunrise eyes more than his lips.

“Let’s go skimming.”

He ignores her teasing completely. Already the one to bring up the drought, Katara’s heart weighs heavier at his excitement for it to finally be raining again. Metal clangs obnoxiously as the manacles bounce together in Zuko’s haste to kneel down and get them on her hands. She’s about to give the game away, tell him to stop, when he sniffs. Brows crinkle. He sniffs again and turns to the shrine. One hand clamped shut by the locks, he abandons his task to reach over and pick up the glass incense burner.

“Huh?” Swishing the empty glass, his eyes narrow on the other burner. Empty as well.

Katara’s heart leaps into her throat when he looks back at her. Does he know? Will he unlock her cuffed hand to check?

“Must have been gone a lot longer than I thought.” He ducks his head sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to leave you stuck in here for so long.”

It amazes Katara she can stand at all as Zuko helps her up, her heart heavy, threatening to betray her. Does he realise how considerate of her he’s grown, or was he always like this while living in a world that decided he was too weak to be worth anything? She feels no better than the monsters of his home as he reopens the door and leads her towards the deck.

He goes too fast as he takes them up. Even with all the trips he’s taken her on, the metal walkways and corridors all look the same to Katara. It isn’t long before she can’t even follow the echo of his footsteps.

“I always thought...” Katara pauses, cocking her head to the voices coming from somewhere below. “...Training accident.”

With Zuko out of sight, she moves for the voices. So shrouded in echoes, her footsteps drown out half of what’s being said until she emerges into the light. Cautiously approaching the railings, Katara looks down into the ships deep bellied hull, where Iroh sits with the crew around a small fire. She’s never heard him so mournful.

“...refusing to fight, Zuko had shown shameful weakness. As punishment, he was banished and sent to capture the Avatar. Only then could he return with his honour.”

“No wonder he’s so obsessed,” Jee murmurs. Whatever animosity brewing between Zuko and the Lieutenant is gone, replaced by sombre understanding. Zuko would hate it even more than his disrespect. Agni Kai’s can’t be fought because a man knows you better.

“Katara?” Zuko pads up to the railing, his clinking footsteps interspersing Iroh’s heavy hearted words. “Things... never return... important... Avatar... Zuko hope.”

As always, he places himself so she only sees his right side. She doesn’t need to look, hearing his sharp intake of breath as the last of Iroh’s words drift up to them. So badly she wants to put her hand on his as his knuckles go white around the railing. All she can do instead is loop her chains around his shoulders and gently pull him with her. “It’s all right,” she whispers when he resists.

“He-”

“Was talking about your plans for when you return.” It slips too easily off her tongue to be a lie. A harmless fib. Zuko knows what he wants to do, how he will do his best to model himself into a better Fire Lord, one she hopes will be influenced more by his Uncle than his father. At least, she knows he will try.

And it’s because he doesn’t believe her that he accepts the half-truth. Given all the opportunity they’ve had, they’ve never once lied to each other. Held back, yes. Openly dismissed talking about themselves, of course.

They’re not entitled to each other’s lives. It makes the small snippets each of them have shared far more precious. If he asked what she heard, she’d tell him. If she asked what his uncle was talking about, he might not tell her everything, but whatever he did would be the truth.

The fib tells him it doesn’t matter to her; the story, what happened, how he feels about it. None of it changes that right now it’s raining, and she wants to spend that time with him.

They’re soaked in seconds from the lashing rain. When a Fire Nation boy says there’s a storm, Katara expects it’s probably little more than a drizzle. She forgets the stories of tropical gales Zuko spent an evening regaling her with when she made such a claim. His childhood holidays to the beach ruined, so his sister claimed, while he and his mother would watch the tempest drive into the coastline from the westward screen of his family’s summer bungalow.

They fly through such a tempest now, sheets of water pummelling their backs, pushing them faster than Katara’s ever gone before. Zuko roars into the gale as he manages to stay on his feet for the first time that night, shocked by the voracity of the wind. Only by copying her wide arms can he manage, and she wonders if he knows the way he cocks his knees, sweeps his hands out, is a classic waterbenders stance.

He falls out of it, into her and the railing. Thunder drowns his laughter and only because his face is practically buried in her neck can Katara hear the husky chuckle, feel it move through his body.

“You’re a Storm Son!” She yells into his ear over the wind.

Watertribesmen would take skiffs out into the winter storms and compete to see who could topple the towering waves the fastest. Mothers of such foolish boys would weep long before the waves and ice smashed the skiffs to splinters.

Lightning flashes, illuminating his wild gold eyes, her tossing, tumbling hair. The crew have not come up to watch them tonight, despite the manic sight they must make. Katara’s blood thrums with the water. Weeks ago, Zuko worried about her leaping over the side of the rail and tonight, alight and living within the storm, she’s tempted to toss herself into its swirling depths.

Then another fork of lightening shatters the sky, slicing into the waters tossing their ship about, and on instinct Zuko grabs her arms. Despite the water in her eyes, she sees his blush as he hastily let’s go. “We should get back inside!”

She's about to beg five more minutes from him when the ship rocks. This time he has no qualms about grabbing her to him, pressing her to the railing and holding them together, arms under hers and locked around the rails.

His gold eyes search her. "Are you oka-"

"Help!"

Zuko's head whips around. Past him, a shape dangles from the very top of the ship’s watchtower. Hands slip and grab frantically for the safety rail of the perch, but the man atop can never get a firm hold.

"The helmsman!" Zuko lets go, throwing over his shoulder a frantic, "Keep hold of the rail." before he's dashing across the deck.

Lieutenant Jee bursts from the cabin quarters as Zuko races past and leaps onto the ladder. The Lieutenant dutifully follows as Iroh emerges. Lightening forks across his stricken face as he watches his nephew climb into the storm. Katara's own heart slams into her ribs harder and harder the higher Zuko climbs. Monstrous clouds threaten to swallow him whole if the wind doesn't tear him from the tower first.

Iroh's eyes catch her own, a split second of terror passing between them. Then his arms are up as a massive fork of lightening splinters the sky, comes screaming for the deck. Katara's scream rips from her throat as it strikes Iroh dead on.

And then the most amazing thing she's ever witnessed happens.

Iroh's arm sweeps up, catches the lightening. He passes it along his body in a deeply controlled arc. Electricity ripples through him and out his other arm. It happens in the space between her blinks.

She'd know those sweeping motions, the immovable will of standing before the storm. They're moves no firebender should naturally know.

And he's too focused with moving the lightening through his body, with watching Zuko, to notice the oil slithering through the cracks of Katara's cuffed hand. No one spares the seconds to see the sweat mixed with rain across her face as she focuses everything on moving the viscous liquid across the cuffs to where Zuko slots the key.

It’s not pure water, the incense oil so much harder to move, especially in the finicky, delicate manner of a key in a lock. All without the comforting use of her hands. All while wind and rain batters her on all sides.

A scream almost slips the oil from her fingers. Above, the helmsman's grip fails him. She gasps as he plummets, cries out in alarm as Zuko's arm shoots out to grab him, shoulder wrenching horribly as the helmsman's fall jerks to a stop.

"Zuko!" She screams into the wind when his own grip on the ladder slips. And something shifts.

The winds wail into the deck, but for a heartbeat the rain rebels, pushing against Zuko's back. He slams into the ladder, dazed for a moment before Jee reaches up to take the helmsman's weight.

He winces his way back down, shoulder tender, and practically jumps when Iroh supports his weight the final few rungs. He's even more shocked when Katara throws her arms up to loop the chain behind his head, drawing him to her.

"You stupid, wonderful, dragon!" she yells over the wind. Somewhere she's embarrassed, but he's gripping her too tightly back for her to care.

Words fail him when he pulls back, her looped hands keeping him from going too far. He's not ready for the chain though, and stumbles back into her space. Foreheads knock. She giggles as water runs like waterfalls down his mostly bald head, but he's staring at her wondrously. As if she'd just risked her life instead of him.

Hot hands tighten around her. When did he get so warm? She finds herself melting towards him, one of his hands rising to pull her in. Her own drifts down the side of his neck, cupping him gently in case he pulls away again.

He doesn't, eyes drifting closed as her fingers move under his ear. When her thumb rests on his lips, he dips his head to press his mouth against the pad. "Zuko..."

She needs to pull back. She can't. Needs to move away. She moves closer instead, until they breathe each other in the storm.

"Katara," he responds. It’s the first time he’s ever said her name, eyes closed as he nuzzles her hand.

Gold eclipses her vision suddenly. His eyes snap open as he jerks back, grabbing her naked hand out of the air where it once cupped his cheek. He stares at it, at the other heavy by her side, still locked in metal. Stares at her with the trusting confusion of a wolf fox being gently put to sleep in its master’s lap. "How-"

A thunderclap roar bursts Katara's eardrums. The chain links slap her side as she jerks away from Zuko. The prince hits the deck along with his crew, not recognising the sound.

Katara stares into the sky. Come on. Come on, I know you're out there!

"Katara!"

Appa destroys a cloud, bursting through the storm. Water streams from his riders as the reins are passed hands, and suddenly there's a shape leaping from Appa's great shaggy head, free-falling towards the deck.

"Aang!" Katara cries. "I'm here! Aang!"

He doesn’t bother to unfurl his glider. He slams onto the deck, whipping his staff around his head. No one’s spared the onslaught of air that slams into the crew, Zuko, Iroh and Katara, pushing them all back.

“Give her back!” The airbender yells, searching for her.

Katara has to pick herself up with one hand, the other still locked in the cuff. Its rounded edge defies her a chance to grip the rails properly as Appa comes barrelling down.

“Shoot that bison!” Zuko roars right before Appa headbutts the ship.

Katara’s feet lose all sense of where the ground is. She can’t see, can’t feel her way toward up like one does when underwater. Her shoulder strikes something hard, but her scream is thick as she feels her legs become deadweight in the open air above the water. They carry her momentum over the rail and when she reaches instinctively out, her cuffed hand bounces uselessly off the metal and she plummets down into the sea.

“No!” A pale hand shoots out over the railing.

Katara’s fall jerks to a stop. Pain burns down her wrist into her shoulder. Above, only the fingers gripping her chain mark the difference between swaying against the ship and the watery pummelling going on not two feet from her swaying legs.

Until a wave rises, slams her into the side of the ship, then tries to pull her back down with it. The hand becomes an armoured arm, becomes a mostly bald head. Zuko grits his teeth against her weight as the water, swirling around her chest now, almost drags him overboard too.

“Don’t let me go!” She cries right before another wave shoves water down her throat. Tears mix more saltwater into her existence as she chokes and splutters. The water’s too strong to be moved by her one weak waterbending hand. She begins to cry, scrabbling desperately at her chain. “Zuko!”

“Katara!”

Zuko looks from her out to sea, rage contorting his face when Appa, guided by Sokka, drifts a few feet closer. Katara can’t help but weep harder at the fearful way Sokka watches her, ignoring Zuko completely. But Appa screams as the fire shoots past his horns.

“Zuko, stop it!” Sokka cries as he tries to wrangle Appa closer. “She’s drowning!”

“Get back!” Zuko roars. A bolt of fire sends Appa reeling from the side of the ship with Sokka barely able to hold on. “Katara!” He reaches through the railings, but he can’t support her weight and bend far enough to grab her reaching hand. “Reach for me!”

“Zuko, stop this!” Through salt burned eyes, Katara sees Aang hovering precariously in the wild, thrashing winds. His arrow flickers in warning. “I won’t let you hurt her. Let me help you.”

For a moment Zuko looks stricken. Only Katara sees it. He ducks his head to look down at her, at the chain looped around his wrist. She hadn’t noticed before but blood coats the metal crimson where the chain cuts, yet he holds desperately on.

Gold meets blue.

Then she’s swallowed by the sea.

She surfaces to a roar, then a jolt, then she’s weightless. Links of metal drop around her. Zuko flies backwards as the chain and her weight disappear from the other end, but she floats. Until Aang is there, swooping her into his arms before peeling away from the ship as fast as he can. He all but throws her into Appa’s saddle before they’re both tossed into the winds, and only his mastery of his element saves him from being flung into the sea as he twists into a new current. He’s dropping into the saddle as Sokka heaves on Appa’s reins again, and they disappear into the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty please let me know your thoughts and feedback because I would love to know if I’m doing a good job!! It only takes a second and it would be greatly appreciated!! Reading all your wonderful comments keeps me writing as I plough on for Book Two.
> 
> Kudos always welcome, likes, dislikes, comments and complaints. Let me know what you guys think because I love reading them and finding out about you guys!


	10. The Blue Spirit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my wonderful readers!
> 
> I am overjoyed by how much you all loved chapter nine! Thank you so much for your lovely, kind words. Now, as it's going to be a big day for a lot of us on Friday, and Thursday people will probably be busy preparing for Friday, I thought I'd give you all your Christmas present early and post TWO days in advance!
> 
> As always, you guys are amazing! I can't put into words how much I love to hear from you guys!! It really motivates me to keep going, keeps me motivated and keeps me writing this fic! 
> 
> Everyone who reads this, all my lovely Kudos giving superstars, please let me know what you thought of this chapter! Knowing I’ve done a good job means the world to me and keeps me pressing on into Book Two!!!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

The bite of cold does nothing to assuage Zuko’s bitterness. If anything, it deepens it. Reminds him of shivering his ponytail off in endless frozen tundra. Reminds him of blue eyes the same colour as a mangy fur parka. A laugh bubbling out from under the white trim hood. Chilled fingers touching his cheek. Lips pressing to trembling, rain slicked skin.

It takes everything in his willpower not to burn a hole through his mask. Blue. Always fucking blue. Why out of all the masks in his mother’s old theatre collection did he pick up the blue one? Because it’s the opposite of red? Because no firebender in their right mind would ever be seen in blue? Because the misery of his memories of Azula forcing him to play the Dark Water Spirit in their enactments of _Love Amongst the Dragons_ loves the company of his resentment?

It doesn’t matter.

No matter how many times he sneaks from his ship to spy on Zhao’s stay at the fire nation fortress, the Pohuai Stronghold, no matter how many times he avoids dreams of Pai Sho and the ocean, he can’t stop thinking about the way Katara looked at him the last time he recklessly ran into Zhao instead of staying.

Well, this time it was her who ran.

Her who left him alone.

He grits his teeth against the brimstone and bile which seems to always line his throat as he scales another few feet of mountain cliffside. Sweat bathes him under the light, black fatigues. Tight to his skin so he can feel each itch and chafe every heave upwards brings. Any distraction is a good one. Too bad it never works.

When was the last time he slept? Each time he tries, lightning flashes behind his closed eyes, and a wide, terror filled gaze wakes him in a hot sweat.

He never found out what happened to her. He only knows she didn’t end up in the water because he cut the chain. Because he let her go.

The healing scars throb in livid red circles around his arm.

Banishing the pathetic ache in his chest, he climbs higher. The way up is nothing new to him. Hand over hand on this poorly watched portion of cliff bracketing Pohuai. Everyone’s too busy watching the legendary Yuyan archers go through their practice drills to really make the round trip.

Zuko was among them. Force bleary eyes to stay open. Track the untrackable arrows. Anything was better than sleep. Anything is better than vales of lucid unconsciousness where he can tangle his hands in umber hair like he so desperately wanted to before, pull those lips higher as memories of rain and wind beat at their clinging, soaked bodies.

Yes, anything is better that what could never be. Until Zhao’s arrival at the fortress brought more pressing matters than his need to be distracted.

Destiny brings him back to himself. Banished Prince destined to bring the Avatar to justice. He is not the rejected fraud Zhao, his sister, and half the Fire nation think he is. The watertribe peasant means nothing to him.

Only his honour, only his crown, matter.

“Absolutely not! The Yuyan Archers stay here. Your request is _denied_ , Commander Zhao.”

“Colonel Shinu, please reconsider ... Their precision is legendary. The Yuyan can pin a fly to a tree from one hundred yards away without killing it.” Zhao’s annoyed voice refuses to beg. Zuko wishes he could see the man’s face. “You're wasting their talents using them as mere security guards.”

“I can do whatever I want with their talents, they're my archers, and what I say goes,” Colonel Shinu shuts the Commander down.

“But my search for the Avatar is-”

“Is nothing but a vanity project! We're fighting a real war here, and I need every man I've got, commander.”

My search, Zuko thinks, and perhaps it’s the public animosity he faces everyday that’s in his favour right now. It grates against his pride, but the less Fire Nation officials that take him seriously right now, the better.

Zhao is not so opportunistic. “But-”

“That's final! I don't want to hear another word about it!”

As always during the two-hour drills, Colonel Shinu presides over the courtyard from the high tower of his tri-level fortress. The archers are his pride and joy, and Zuko takes immense pleasure in the man putting Zhao in his place.

Until the messenger Hawk lands.

“News from the Fire Lord?” Zuko risks peeking over the watchtowers roof, ears perking up at the mention of his father. “Ah, it appears I’ve been promoted to Admiral. My request is now an order.”

As Shinu begrudgingly bows, Zuko’s already heavy heart sinks.

~ ~ ~

Pacing before the portside display windows, every word out of Lieutenant Jee's mouth spikes Zuko’s irritation higher. He’s been pulling away from them. No longer watching music night from the upper deck. Pulling away from his uncle, his firebending lessons. Cutting them all from his heart before they can cut themselves free of him. His crew can feel it. Uncle can feel it. Lily and the rest of the handmaidens serving them tea can feel it.

After he stormed back from the fortress and woke them before dawn, they've all been on edge. But Zuko will not lose the Avatar to Zhao.

"We haven't been able to pick up the Avatar's trail since the storm," Jee is saying.

Zuko doesn’t look up from the map. "I'm aware, Lieutenant. How about you tell me something I don't know."

Whatever respect he earned from the Lieutenant was erased long before Zuko tightened his grip on the crew. Jee may see him as more of a leader after his actions with the helmsman, but like any searing flame he resents being pushed. "If we continue heading northeast, we might pick up a lead based on what you learned from the girl."

Bringing up Katara is the only jab back at Zuko Jee can make without starting an all-out brawl. "The Avatar still needs a waterbending teacher." Katara let that information slip almost too easily. "And the peasant now knows of the extinction protocols. They'll be more desperate than ever to reach the North pole and-"

The map, his uncle's Pai Sho board and all the startled faces are bathed in darkness. Zuko spins to glare out the window, already knowing who would dare impose upon his ship. "What do they want?"

The envoy is an unimpressive soldier of Zhao's intimate retinue. Zuko recognises the voice more than the face, more often than not covered by the genderless, expressionless white plate. It was covered when Zuko slashed a flaming fist across his vision as he escaped Roku’s temple. Not all the soot was scrubbed away, the white plate tinged with grey.

His message is as predictable as he is bland. "The hunt for the Avatar has been given prime importance. All information regarding the Avatar must be reported directly to Admiral Zhao."

Zuko grits his teeth, despising the man and the title.

His uncle is not so burdened by the news. "Zhao has been promoted? Well, good for him!" He effortlessly wins his Pai Sho game and starts another.

"I've got nothing to report to Admiral Zhao." Nothing official anyway. He's working off a hunch supported by his impression of Katara’s will. Zhao has no need of chasing flights of fancy, and Zuko will need as big of a head start north as he can get. "Now get off my ship and let us pass."

"Admiral Zhao is not allowing ships in or out of this area," drones his grey envoy.

Red colours the corners of Zuko's vision. "Off my ship!"

He doesn't stop seeing red long into the evening. It bleeds from his hands as he fires bolt after bolt into the sky. A swollen, burning coal takes place of the setting sun, sullen and angry as Zuko himself. Desperate to set and sleep and move on from this endless day. If only Zuko could be so lucky.

Rage has found its home in his heart. Every pause to catch his breath stabs the inadequacy deeper. He hasn't felt this lost, this helpless, since his father cupped his cheek and burned his disappointment into Zuko's face. When he closes his eyes, he sees it. Red. Everything is always red.

Until it was blue for a few, breathless months. His anger cooled. His hopeless soul no less untethered the further from home he sails, but finally feeling like his feet were settled and safe on the ground.

The emptiness welcomes him back with spiteful, open arms. Fire bursts from his mouth before he can think to wrestle it away, wrestle thoughts of _her_ away.

"Is everything okay?" his uncle asks, because of course it's not, but Uncle believes any problem can be solved with a dialogue and a cup of tea. "It's been almost an hour and you haven't given the men an order."

Zuko pants, envisioning burning the ship until it sinks to the bottom of the bay. "I don't care what they do."

Uncle's voice is despicably optimistic. "Don't lose hope. You can still find the Avatar before Zhao." His pause should have warned Zuko to what was coming next. "I know you miss Katara, nephew."

"Who?" Zuko sneers before his uncle can simper on.

His uncle frowns. "I won't call her your captive when she is one no longer, or the cruel things you insisted upon while she was in our care. She wasn’t a peasant, a watertribe brute or a coldie. She was your friend."

"She was a prisoner. I was stupid to treat her as anything but. She gave us information; she served her purpose. Not that it matters. With Zhao’s resources it’s only a matter of time before he captures the Avatar." Zuko looks out across the water before he realises it's a mistake. His heart wrenches, stomach swooping low. "My honour, my throne, my country. I'm about to lose them all."

He’s already lost so much.

But when the watchmen’s horn sounds in the mountains, a fire lights in Zuko’s soul. He will not be snuffed out like a pathetic candle, not before he gives it his all. He’ll die before he lets Zhao steal his life from him uncontested.

Those horns mean the Avatar is nearby.

Savour your victory while you can, Zhao, Zuko thinks as he prepares to don his mask.

Zhao’s confidence is as pathetic as his need to lord any victory he gains over any he can hold it over. When Zuko was a boy he looked up to the young soldier, gasped in awe when he’d bask his victories over the other cadets. The perfect firebender. Courageous, confident, unmatched in skill. Everyone knew he was the Sunbloods final pupil before his desertion.

Dusk Bringer, they would whisper when Zhao strode by. The setting sun on a dying dynasty of firebending.

It’s hard for Zuko not to feel disgusted with the memory, with himself, as he ducks through the shadows, into the layers of Pohuai.

Zhao’s voice carries down from the tall, ornate balcony festooned with gold and red spades, down to where his soldiers stand erect. He’s flanked by attendants who are flanked by burning pots, all of which stand back from him. Zhao would never stand to share this victory; not with Colonel Shinu and Yuyan archers who actually did the work.

“We are the sons and daughters of fire, the superior element! Until today only one thing stood in our path to victory, the Avatar. I am here to tell you that he is now my prisoner! Soon is the year Sozin's Comet returns to grant us its power! Soon is the year the Fire Nation breaks through the walls of Ba Sing Se and burns the city to the ground!”

As the crowd below cheers, pure ecstasy fills Zuko at the notion he’ll be the one to take this victory from the dreadful man. Others will enjoy it, if never know of his involvement. It’s the first time he’s been remotely close to happy in days as he scales the inner wall, dropping into the sewers on the other side. Not even the stink can dampen his determination.

The guards are pitifully easy to overwhelm. Splitting them up was a plan Zuko didn’t expect to work so successfully. He thought at least two would come to investigate his helmet ruse. He thought more would come raining down on them from the Avatar’s screaming. He gleaned from how Katara spoke of him that he was a coddled fop, but as he has to gesture for him to follow him does he truly see he’s just a boy.

“Who are you? What's going on? Are you here to rescue me?”

More questions than Zuko has patience for.

“I'll take that as a "yes”,” the boy says in answer to his impatient gesture.

Zuko almost slips on a frog on his way out. When did they appear? From where?

“My frogs! Come back! And stop thawing out!” The kid can’t be serious. Zuko has to all but drag him on their way. “Wait! My friends need to suck on those frogs!”

He almost gives the game away. Friends. So, both of them. Does that mean Katara’s okay? But why does she need to suck on a frozen frog?

Can’t think about that. Have the avatar. Need to get him out. Get him back to his vessel. The manacles wait for him there. Zuko would have liked to bring them, but quiet is his ally. As long as the Avatar believes so of him, he has a chance to win back his destiny.

He leads the boy back through the sewers, to the rope hanging down. It will lead them to the outer wall. From there, it’s a dash through the gates and they’re home free. Well, Zuko will be. All he has to do is get the Avatar over the-

“There! On the wall!”

Alarm bells wail.

~ ~ ~

Zuko wakes to a presence.

Leafy canopy welcomes him back to the world instead of a hail of arrows. Groaning, he blinks a few times, takes stock of his surroundings. He’s in the woods outside Pohuai Stronghold. He must be far enough away that no scouts found him.

Bird song of the coming dawn permeates the thick foliage, awakening the world in a calm, peaceful melody to everything else, a cacophony of sharp, insistent notes to Zuko’s aching head.

Fighting with the Avatar. Flowing through the onslaught of guards as if shredding paper with his duelling swords. Was fighting ever so easy? Shame there are no airbenders left for him to work with. He’s never known the speed and dexterity a breath of fresh air can give. The boy wasn’t bad. Makes him feel a little less inadequate for how long it’s taken him to capture him. Where is he? There’s still one step left.

An arrow. His mask. Hitting the dirt.

Wait. Nothing’s shrouded in the light film of the mask interior, eyes unobstructed for the first time in hours. Zuko’s hand lifts to his face. No mask. His stomach drops. Where? But when he looks, he finds no blue dragon sneering at him.

Instead, a lost, forlorn looking boy perches on the roots above his head. Chin resting on arms folded over his raised knees, sadness and insecurity flood from him. Despite being deeply hooded with a fatigue Zuko shares even with his hours of unconsciousness, he can see the slit of his grey eyes stare ahead, unfocused.

“Your Admiral is...” He can’t seem to say it, but Zuko knows. Zhao hoards his victories, even over fourteen-year-old-boys. He’s especially fond of making them sting long after the game is over. “I didn’t answer his question about how it feels to be the last airbender. The last Air nomad of any kind. Your people are thorough.”

He doesn’t give Zuko an answer now. A verbal one, anyway. “You know what the worst part of being born over a hundred years ago is? I miss all the friends I used to hang out with. Before the war started, I used to always visit my friend Kuzon. The two of us, we'd get in and out of so much trouble together. He was one of the best friends I ever had, and he was from the Fire Nation, just like you.”

Zuko’s spared a glance, searching this time. And hesitant, as if the boy knows what he wants to say but fears it at the same time. Zuko heard him cursing out Zhao, throwing down challenges to one of the most dangerous men in the Fire Nation. On his back, dazed, on his own, still gathering his strength; what possible threat could Zuko bring him now?

“And... and Katara and you became friends, right?” His heart wrenches against his will. It must show, the boys words growing bolder. “She misses you. She hasn’t said so, but I can tell with how much she’s been running herself ragged. I don’t think she realises it herself.”

Don’t ask, Zuko all but growls. Not to the boy but to himself. Don’t you fucking dare ask what he meant about those frogs. Ask him if she’s okay.

She’s nothing to you. Proved it herself.

But the boy seems to be a mind reader. “I was getting those frogs for her, and Sokka. They caught colds in that storm, but don’t worry. She’ll be okay. I can tell her you asked, if you’d like? That’s what friends do for each other, after all. Do... do you think If we knew each other a hundred years ago, do you think we could have been friends, too?”

Zuko doesn’t hear him over the relief thundering in his ears. Disgust follows. Disgust at the relief he feels knowing a girl who tossed him away is safe. Disgust at himself for wanting more than anything to ask the Avatar to take him to her.

Crushing, disgusting loneliness.

It comes bursting up in a jet of flame. The Avatar cries out as he dodges, disappearing into the trees without a look back.

~ ~ ~

His cutter vessel loads back onto the ship. Zuko made sure to change back into his armour he kept stored on board. Uncle wouldn’t approve of vigilantism of any sort, even against Zhao, and Zuko’s too tired for a lecture. Just his luck his Uncle, risen with the sun as always, basks in the early morning light. Tsungi horn curled in his lap, he beams as Zuko climbs up the ramp.

“Where have you been, Prince Zuko? You missed music night. Lieutenant Jee sang a stirring love song.”

Missed. Avoided. Would have rather been locked up in Zhao’s custody than have to listen to anything remotely related to love. Splitting hairs.

Either way, Zuko storms past without sparing his uncle a glance. “I am going to bed. No disturbances.”

The mournful notes of the Tsungi horn follow him all the way down to his quarters. Inside is musty and stale. He hasn’t lit the incense burners in weeks. It’s actually impossible, given the moment he stormed in and saw the empty burners, he smashed them to pieces. The cuts to his hands are healing. The lacerations to his soul not so much.

Below the smashed dragon’s tooth of his shrine, Katara’s betrothal necklace lies. Ribbons curled up neatly, the blue glass pendant twinkles like a fallen star. Or a beautiful blue eye.

He can’t bare to look at it as he disrobes. Nor can he be bothered to put it away as he lies down and shuts his eyes.

For the first time in days no storms trouble his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty please let me know your thoughts and feedback because I would love to know if I’m doing a good job!! It only takes a second and it would be greatly appreciated!! Reading all your wonderful comments keeps me writing as I plough on for Book Two.
> 
> Kudos always welcome, likes, dislikes, comments and complaints. Let me know what you guys think because I love reading them and finding out about you guys!


	11. The Waterbending Scroll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First update of the New Year! I hope you guys have all had a great Christmas and a happy new year! 
> 
> And in true me fashion I of course mess up the post and have to repost it barely five minutes later. That’s what I get for updating at midnight XD
> 
> As always, you guys are amazing! I can't put into words how much I love to hear from all my readers!! It really motivates me to keep going, keeps me motivated and keeps me writing this fic!
> 
> Everyone who reads this, all my lovely Kudos giving superstars, please let me know what you thought of this chapter! Knowing I’ve done a good job means the world to me and keeps me pressing on into Book Two!!!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

"Watertribes... Tell them.... Warn... Fire Nation... South.... Southern...."

Impossible to keep her thoughts straight. The ache just won't go away. No amount of sleep can steady the erratic, painful drum at her temple. Not enough water to drink. Can't dispel the searing scratch of her throat.

And cold. Always cold. No matter how many of her furs she wraps herself in.

She wouldn't be cold in Zuko's ship. Those pipes were a spirits-send. Maybe she could ask to go back to her cell, snuggle down in those blankets. He could read to her again, soothe her with that low octave his raspy voice can drop to when he’s content and secure.

No, she can't go back. She escaped.

Didn't she?

This is what freedom is. Travelling with her friends. Off the water. Sick.

Curled up without the comfort of another body sitting against the wall, intent on making sure she’s okay. Putting wet compresses over her eyes when the old ones dry out. Through the pulsing aches, she can conjure the image of Zuko, chin tipped to his chest as he dozed.

A new ache pulses in her heart. Didn't know fevers could cause those. Dozing with Zuko carries her through the long nights. She can't truly sleep, not when Sokka's fever has gripped him for a week and shows no signs of breaking. He needs her.

"Warn... Watertribes... Fire Nation... Protocols..."

What did she need to warn them of again?

The Fire Nation were planning an attack!

No, wait, they'd already done that. For a while now.

Moth-wasps buzz in her ears. No peace. At least in her cell she could count on it to be quiet. Quiet and always warm.

Warmth blooms now. Beside her, behind her closed and aching eyes. Comes closer, kneels down in front of her. She forces them open a crack; vision blurry as she stares joyfully at the soft glow burning in his hand. "You came back."

"I said I would, Katara," a soft voice murmurs. The other hand holds something small and shiny. She can only spare her energy for the light.

"You always came back, even when I feared you wouldn't." She laughs softly until it becomes a pained cough. "I begged you not to go."

A confused tilt to his head casts a shadow across her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"I begged you not to go... said I'd be alone... Was a lie." Her throat is dry as a bone when she swallows. "Truth... scared. Scared you wouldn't make it. Scared you’d leave... or get another..."

She can't get her eyes to focus, but something is off about his face. He always had the capacity to be gentle, even when he tried so hard to bury it under layers of brooding and wrath. But his face is too soft now, open and concerned.

And something else. She reaches up, and when she cups his left cheek, he leans into it without hesitating.

"Where... is it?"

"Where's what, Katara?"

"Where's... your scar?"

He recoils. Stupid. She knows not to bring it up. The slightest affiliation and he turns away. Conscious act or nervous compulsion? Sometimes she thought she knew. But he’s just let her touch it, like it meant nothing at all, like it wasn't even there.

Something presses against her lips. Did he bring her water? He always brought her water, and she opens. It's not water. It's hard and cold.

"Suck on this. It will make you feel better," a dejected voice instructs.

She does until she falls asleep. Like before, whenever he came to her cell.

"Wait, wait, wait, hold on," Sokka waves his hands at her. "That was real?"

Katara glares at him. "No, I made the whole thing up. I thought I'd use a story of attempted genocide to debut my sick sense of humour."

It's Sokka's turn to glare at her, between his directions of Appa. "You were delirious with fever. Excuse me for thinking the Fire Nation couldn't sink any lower."

"You were way worse," Katara defends herself. "I was nowhere near your level of crazy. Right Aang?"

But the monk doesn't pipe up with a helpful example of Sokka laughing at the jokes Appa and Momo were telling all night. In fact, when she tries to prompt him with a glance, he looks away, knuckling his left eye self-consciously. He must be as troubled by the news as she was.

"I know it sounds insane, but it's the truth. I wouldn't have brought it up if I had any doubts: The Fire Nation tried to exterminate our tribe, Sokka." She shuffles to the edge of the saddle to put her hand on his shoulder. "They took our people sixty years ago. Then, when they learned they failed, they came back and took our mother."

Wordlessly, he reaches back to put his hand over hers. His grip is tight around her fingers. "We need to go back to the South Pole and warn them."

"No,” Katara says, wincing when Sokka rips his hand away from hers. “We need to get to the North Pole, tell them what's going on and have them send aid."

"Katara, what about Gran-Gran, and Dakoda? We need to find dad and-"

"Aang learning to Waterbend is our top priority," Katara cuts him off, feeling a piece of her soul falling away with the declaration. "We can't stop the Fire Nation with some words, but he can by mastering all the elements before Sozin's comet. Our people already know to be wary. We'll be more help spreading the message. Incite more fury against the Fire Nation. If we didn't know it happened, I can bet no one else does. That is how we protect ourselves.”

Sokka frowns. It’s hard to get his mind off their father once it lands there.

“You said so yourself, right? You didn't think they could sink any lower? Well, here you go Nations of the world. Are you willing to be next?"

Sokka doesn't look happy, but he nods at her before returning his attention to the sky ahead. Only because Katara knows he feels just like that sky, empty, fathomless, and cold, does she leave him alone instead of pressing the issue.

Right now, Aang needs her attention as he paces wildly back and forth.

“Aang, you okay buddy?” Sokka calls when he notices as well.

“Am I okay?” The boy asks, uncharacteristically snippy. “I have to master three whole elements in less time it took me to master one and I haven't even started waterbending. We’re still weeks away from the North Pole. What am I gonna do?”

Katara wishes she'd waited until they were further north to say anything now. He doesn't need the extra pressure. “Calm down, it’s going to be okay.” She has to grab and pull him down next to her when he doesn’t listen. “If you want, I can try to teach you some of the stuff I know.”

The first bit of hope she’s seen in him shines through. His smile is soft and genuine. “You’d do that?”

“Of course.” She begins tipping over the side of Appa’s saddle, looking for a place to touch down. “We'll need to find a good source of water first.”

“Maybe we can find a puddle for you to splash in,” Sokka laughs as he flicks Appa’s reins, beginning their descent.

~ ~ ~

“This is a pretty basic move, but it still took me months to perfect,” Katara instructs as best she can while Aang watches and Sokka floats on Appa. The water’s clear and perfect, reacting to her back-and-forth motions until waves ripple its surface. “There, see. Push and pull. Tui and La. Don’t get frustrated if you don’t get it right away. The key is getting the wrist movement right. Just feel its rhythm. Push and pul-”

“Like this?” Aang’s wave crests and falls in time to the supple way his arms and heels lift and shift together. “Hey, I’m bending it already!”

It only gets worse from there, because Aang gets better and better and she stays the same. Katara can’t understand it. She’s lived her entire life surrounded by water and she can barely get the stuff to do what she wants on a good day. Watching Aang whip and twirl the water around his body, as if it’s a part of him, is a slap as she barely holds her demonstration together long enough for him to show her how to do it better.

And, somehow, he reverse goads her into failing her Tidal wave. And, of course, he has to show the waterbender how to waterbend, all over Sokka and Appa. “Looks like I got the hang of that move! What else do you got?”

Nothing. She has absolutely nothing. “That's enough practicing for today.”

Sokka's head pops out of the water. "I'll say. You just 'practiced' our supplies down the river."

"No worries," Aang says as he strips off his shirt and pants. "They're not too far. We can get those! Come on, Katara!"

"No!" Aang pauses, up to his shins in the shallows, about to dive after their rapidly disappearing possessions. Sokka shares his confusion as Katara stammers. "They're long gone, Aang. And they'll be ruined. No point getting ourselves even more soaked chasing them down."

"Oh..." He looks down sheepishly. Katara silently begs he doesn't notice that she hasn't, in fact, gone near the water past the bank. "No matter. I'm sure we can find somewhere to replace all our stuff."

~ ~ ~

There is, and it's filled with armoured guards. Metal is nothing new to Katara anymore. Months surrounded by it makes it lose a touch of its cold menace. But without awkward smiles, Pai Sho and expertly brewed tea, the faces behind the metal sneer and march past, and her skin crawls all over again.

She does her best to ignore them as her and Sokka peruse the stalls ahead of Aang. "We've got exactly three copper pieces left from the money King Bumi gave us. Let's spend it wisely."

"King Bumi?" Katara asks. “You guys met a king?”

"Oh, yeah, you missed a whole thing.” Sokka launches into an excited tirade. “Turns out Aang isn't the only bender over a hundred years old. He's got this crazy friend, what did you call him, Aang?"

"A mad genius," Aang supplies as he eagerly browses a cart.

"Right. So, this mad genius also happens to be the king of Omashu – Yeah, that Omashu. We stopped in when we heard rumours Zuko was skulking about.” She gets a half-sincere shrug from Sokka. Can’t interrupt his flow with an actual apology at her extended captivity. “Halfway through trying to find you, I get kidnapped and encased in rock candy, and Aang's fighting an owlbat-shit crazy old man."

"Mad genius," Aang corrects testily.

"Sounds like you two had quite the adventure," Katara mutters.

Sokka goes on to regale her with more stories about two warring tribes, a canyon infested with fighting and fearsome beasts, a spirit upset over the forest the Fire Nation burned down, and Aang's mad dash to the crescent isle.

"Zuko beat Zhao in an Agni Kai once," Katara butts in as Sokka takes great pleasure in telling her how the prince turned tail and ran from Roku’s temple the first chance he got. _I asked him too. I didn't want him to kill himself. Could have told me he could handle Zhao before he set off_. But she wouldn't dare say that to her brother.

"You make that sound like it's something impressive," Sokka grumbles.

"It is," Aang murmurs, sparing a look for Katara he doesn't realise she sees. He quickly wipes it away. Instead, he produces a white, bison shaped whistle. "And make that two copper pieces, Sokka. I couldn't say no to this whistle!"

Sokka stares, unimpressed, as Aang sucks in a deep breath and produces no sound whatsoever from the whistle. "I'll hold onto the money, I think."

Katara frowns. "I can do it, Sokka."

He takes the two measly coins anyway and tucks them in his belt. "It's all right, Katara, I don't mind dealing with the merchants.”

She’s so stunned she doesn’t think to hold onto the coins. “So you can’t understand the basic concept of washing your gross socks, but you know how money works now?”

Sokka rolls his eyes. “My dirty socks are gross to everyone, including me. But I actually like money now I've got the hang of this spending stuff. Who do you think took care of it while you were gone?"

He means to reassure her, not pierce a dagger into her heart. Of course, while she was chained to a ship, he was off learning beyond bartering. Becoming smarter, more capable, without her. He was becoming a man of the world, and she was still a Southern Watertribe peasant. How could she think they'd still need her to take care of their day to day when she could barely tell the difference between the value of five copper pieces and one silver?

So, she does her best to remind them. “Yeah, well remember that next time I’m chained up in a ship,” she jokes awkwardly. “Next time I might be locked up longer than two months and someone else will have to scrub the crust from your nasty socks.”

~ ~ ~

“You did what?” Sokka cries when Katara produces the waterbending scroll from her sleeve.

Admittedly it was a bit of a panic move brought on by the events of the morning; Sokka’s independence from her, Aang’s superior abilities, and, quite frankly, just wanting to be better. Katara wasn’t going to apologise for any of it, even the stuff she maybe should.

“Sokka, where do you think they got it?” she chastises as she holds the scroll out of his reach. “They stole it from a waterbender!”

“It doesn't matter.” Of course, he’d say that. At least some things haven’t changed. “You put all of our lives in danger just so you could learn some stupid, fancy splashes.”

“It’s more than that,” she growls, realizing too late Sokka won’t let something like that go without an explanation. “These are _real_ waterbending forms. You know how crucial it is for Aang to learn waterbending!”

You don’t share a life with someone without being able to see when they’re not telling you everything. Sokka knew her mind the day she went after Aang, and he knows a piece is missing now. And it hurts him more when he realises she isn’t going to give it to him.

Not until she can understand it herself.

“Whatever.”

She gets barely an hour’s use out of the scroll before she ruins everything.

Yelling at Aang makes her feel truly awful. After being so monstrous to her brother in the past she thought she had her temper under control. Ashy regret coats her tongue as she apologises profusely to Aang and Momo, prostrating the scroll to him as a last act of confession.

That lasts until she rolls over for the hundredth and twelfth time that night, gives up on trying to sleep, and takes the scroll for some honest, uninterrupted practice. On the bank of the river she whips everything but the water into a frenzy. She hasn’t pushed herself this hard in weeks and nothing is coming of it. She feels so enraged and powerless all at once.

Water won’t obey her, but it wants to. It’s reaching for her, wants to know she is one with it.

Come on, the water mocks her with its stillness. You spent all that time with me. Separated by a few layers of metal. And you mean to tell me you felt nothing?

“I tried.” She can’t shift her feet and move the water around her head.

Distracted?

“Captured.”

Then why did you not focus that passion? There was plenty of it.

She focuses it now because it’s there now. Because she had no one to truly hate in her imprisonment.

Her rage at the Fire Nation never ebbs. But after the first few weeks of Zuko accepting her, never trying to deflect her or change the subject, never trying to get her to believe in the empty promise of inner peace, she found she could only whip those waters into a frenzy for so long before the river began to run dry.

But it’s back. And it’s been waiting a long time. Fear is not her torrent.

She folds over the waters edge. Knees in the grass, her fingers inches from the water. Panting, she’s desperate to touch it, but…

“Fear is my dam.” Her voice cracks. Her reflection looks no better, staring helplessly up at her as the water ripples. “I don’t want to fear you.”

But she can’t forget what being sucked down into those cold depths was like. Feeling it cling to her. Forcing its way down her throat. Trying it’s hardest to take her.

“If mastering you can make this fear go away, I won’t stop.” Panting, she looks up. The moon smiles down at her. “Tui guide me, lend me your strength.”

But when she looks down at the water, it is not strength she feels or the moon she sees. Her heart plummets into her stomach as she locks eyes with twin suns.

Zuko’s reflection glares up at her.

Gasping, she kneels closer to the water, fingers hovering over his narrowed suspicion. How close did she come to touching his face once before, when the water lashed them from the sky instead of rippling beneath her fingers.

“Tui knows,” she breathes and, for the first time in days, touches water. It ripples, corresponding shudders breaking across her own body. “You must hate me so much.”

The glare softens, if only a little. Enough it looks almost like hurt.

“I can’t say I’m sorry,” she murmurs to the vision. “Why should I? You’re not even here. But I have to live with this fear? Fuck you. It’s not fair. You captured me. You imprisoned me. You and your insufferable destiny would have let the water kill me.”

The vision in the water looks away, ashamed.

“And now I have to be afraid.” She doesn’t remember when she started crying. But she remembers thrashing the water, whipping it with her hand, carrying it into the air with her fury. “Fear is not the torrent. I will have no dam! I-”

The underbrush bursts apart, the body rushing towards her thick and too fast. She throws the water into his face, jumps back. But a hand is clamping down on her arm, squeezing tight enough to click the bones of her wrist. “Let go!”

A fist of moonlight slams into the man’s cheek, and he drops into the water. Katara realises it’s one of the pirates from the market. Looming over the pirate, rage simmering the air around him, pants Zuko.

He’s enraged, gold eyes seething down at the groaning man with all the intent to kill. Until she gasps. Those twin suns lift to the sound. His eyes find hers. There’s none of her surprise in him. He was there. Not some cruel vison of Tui and La.

Hot, lighting fast hands lash out, locking around her wrists. When he speaks, it’s with all the coldness Katara feels closing over her heart. “I’ll save you from the pirates.”

~ ~ ~

“I don’t remember saving and being captured meaning the same thing,” Katara sneers, struggling against her bonds. Bark bites her skin, the rope not much better. “Not like you’d know the difference.”

Zuko doesn’t offer a response. Completely closed off, no shred of the wit he once attempted. His cool gold eyes remind her of a candle behind amber glass, flickering illusionary warmth but projecting nothing but cold. “Tell me where the Avatar is, and I won't hurt you or your brother.”

“Go jump in the river,” she snaps back.

“How about I throw you in? Seems to me it would be just as effective.”

“Ashhole.” Of course, he’d press the knife of his cruelty against her open wounds. Sentimentality is just another weapon to his kind of creature. “Where’s my cuffs? Some nostalgia would go really nicely with this reunion.”

“You miss the feel of metal?” he jeers. No amount of indifference can smother how good they’ve always been at pressing each other’s buttons. A natural, deplorable talent. “Should have thought of that before you chose jumping off a ship in the middle of a storm over it.”

“You’re actually going to walk around like an open wound?” She can’t believe she ever thought there was more to this Fire Nation princeling. “Quit being a hypocrite and untie me! Let’s see who should truly be afraid of the water!”

Zuko doesn’t move for a long moment. Then, he glides behind her tree, past where she can turn her head. Is he really going to jump in the river? “Try to understand. I need to capture him to restore something I've lost. My honour.”

“You never had any,” she whispers into the dark.

His huff washes across her neck. “Perhaps in exchange I can restore something you've lost.”

Pale fingers pinch the thin strips of blue cloth suspended in front of her neck. At their centre glints the glass disc she’s spent every night begging to Tui and La she’d somehow find. “My mother’s necklace.” She tries to twist, see his face. “Y-you had it this whole time?”

“I didn’t steal it if that’s what you’re wondering.” But he didn’t give it back for months either. She doubts he’ll be giving it back now.

She twits in her bonds, trying to get a look at his face. Her nose bumps the inside of his wrist. She jerks back the same moment Zuko pulls his arm away, but he’s not quick enough. She felt it, the ridged texture of still healing scar tissue curling around the skin.

He comes back around, tucking her necklace into his belt. In the same motion he tugs on the cuff of his vambrace, covering the sliver of scarlet skin. “Tell me where he is.”

“No!”

“Enough of this necklace garbage!” Snaps the pirate captain from where he and his crew are watching their little show. He regards Katara with particular contempt. She did start all of this, but she gives a good amount of that animosity back. “She’s obviously not going to just tell you. Maybe start breaking some fingers and she’ll have ten chances to rethink her silence.”

“Give me a pair of tweezers and twelve minutes, and you’ll know where that bald boy is,” the buck-toothed grandstander simpers.

Zuko pulls the waterbending scroll from his belt. Without a word, he opens his palm underneath it, flames sparking to life. “I wonder how much this is worth.”

But as the pirate’s start forwards, Katara shivers. No heat comes off Zuko. His rage is cold.

“A lot, apparently. Now you help me find what I want, you'll get this back, and everyone goes home happy. Search the woods for the boy and meet back here!”

He doesn’t extinguish the flames until the pirates skulk away. Even then, his rage is obvious. He never tortured her, even when he was a faceless enemy to her cause and it would have made sense. He owed her no sense of dignity, but the notion disgusts him. Thank the spirits for Iroh’s influence.

“There was a time you would jump at the chance to bring me everything on watertribe history,” she murmurs as he breathes to calm himself.

His back stiffens. “There was… until you jumped over the side of my ship instead.”

“I fell,” she spits. “I didn’t jump. No waterbender in their right mind would jump into the ocean during a storm. The Storm Sons ride the waves because we’d never be so arrogant as to believe we can tame them, so stop bleeding all over the place and claiming I held the blade. Just, stop it!”

“Stop what?” He turns on her, walking into her space. “Stop you falling into the ocean? Practically slice my arm off trying to keep you from drowning?” Before she can blink, he’s ripping the metal from his arm. The vambrace clatters to the ground but she can’t look away from the livid pink snake curling around his arm. “Okay, next time I’ll let you battle an ocean because you choose dying over spending another second with- on my ship.”

His heaving chest brushes against hers with each laboured breath. Warm air burns her eyes, stinging and sharp. But she can’t look away from his arm. “Zuko…”

He notices her unwavering gaze on his arm, eyes narrowing. “Don’t pretend you care.”

“Does it hurt?” she asks because she does care. Tui and La, he’s tied her to a tree and it’s all she can think to ask.

And he’s still glaring at her, suspicion constant in hard lines no twenty-year-old should have. They remain even as he rolls his wrist, muscles in his forearm flexing beneath the twisting, mottled skin. “They always do at first.” His eyes trap her. “Scars know they’re forever. They like to make an impression.”

Her eyes scan his face, like he knew she wouldn’t be able to help. But he doesn’t count on how hers find their way to his, how they don’t shift away, too embarrassed by his face to hold contact for too long. It’s the first stab at his defences, his weaponised animosity slipping.

She holds him with her gaze because her hands are tied behind her back. Because she never tried when she could. 

He knows her mind, coming closer. Fingers shaking as they reach out. She doesn’t even look at the fingers, still holding his eyes as those fingers cup her cheek. Skin cold. Heart thumping in her chest.

So like the final time they touched.

Except the healing skin on his arm is rough against her neck, and his thumb does not trace her bottom lip. His eyes aren’t wide with the elation saving the helmsman gave him. His pulse doesn’t thrum under her fingertips as he leans down, ready to consume her world in flame.

At least her hands are bound again. Except they weren’t then, not really. That was the action which shattered their fantasy.

She shatters it again now. Only she can’t stop herself from being selfish and taking a piece of him. Turning her cheek into his palm, she nuzzles pale skin which ignites on instinct. Her lips brush the base of his thumb as she asks, “How is using me to capture Aang going to fix anything, Zuko?”

“It can’t,” he exhales, voice wrecked. But he leans into her like he wants it to, hand sliding up her cheek to cradle her jaw as his forehead leans against hers. She presses as much into him as her bonds allow, feeling him squeeze his eyes shut like he always does when he’s agonising over a decision.

“Are you going to lock me back up on your ship so we can play Pai Sho and drink tea in our little metal bubble?” He smells like woodsmoke and spiced tea leaves. She could get drunk on it. “Nothing is going to bring back what we had, Zuko.”

“We never had anything,” he seethes, his outburst thrashing against the skin of her neck. A vein near his temple throbs. “We couldn’t. You made sure of that. Oh wait.”

He pulls back, and the flame is locked back behind the glass. He’s cold as he bends to retrieve his discarded vambrace, locking it back over the fresh scars. “You left me with more than one thing. Thanks for the tip on staying ahead of Zhao. Not that I’ll be needing it come morning.”

~ ~ ~

She realises what the tip she didn’t realise she’d left him is as she goes over the waterfall.

He’s there, on the edge of the cliff. Both eyes wide, watching her. Mouth open in a silent scream, of her name. She can see the way his lips move. Never looking away from her. It’s the same way she looked at him when the Pirate Captain drew his sword against the unarmed Prince.

Until Appa catches them against the raging torrent of water, and his eyes fly to the north star before the bison’s cleared the grasstop banks.

“Zuko knows we’re going north.”

Sokka and Aang share a look. She’s guilty of so much today, yesterday. She should have told them then as she tells them now what she went through on his ship. Parts of it she leaves out, obviously. Not the sharing of history, they knew that already. Not her fixing his wounds when he returned from Roku’s island. She’s a healer by nature. She even tells them about teaching Zuko to skim. That night was the first time she’d tried to break through her cuffs, but the metal was too strong, her waterbending too weak.

She doesn’t tell them she had fun watching him fall over. Doesn’t tell them she saw how different he was from Jet. She’ll never tell a soul how her heart beat a little quicker each time she called him Sunshine, and he smiled.

It’s heavy now, wrapping itself in a nest of melancholy in her stomach. “Aang, I still owe you an apology. You were just so good at waterbending without really trying. I got so competitive that I put us all in danger. I'm so sorry.”

Aang and Sokka look at each other again, before they both smile at her, and Aang takes her hand. “That’s okay, Katara. I think they would have figured it out anyway. We were so desperate to get that scroll.”

She almost cries as she smiles. “Who needs that dumb scroll.”

Sokka sees her misty eyes and comes closer as well. “Is that how you really feel?” he chides as something paper and firm bonks against her shoulder in place of his comforting hand.

“The scroll!” She grabs it. He lets her. “How did you get this?”

“Lifted it right off Zuko while he was distracted with that Captain,” Sokka crows. “It was so easy to grab. He jumped back from the sword right into me. Honestly, Katara, how did you get caught back in that town? It was so easy, Zuko practically gave it to me.”

_Never retreat backward. No attack opens when a man allows himself to be pushed._

If Sokka or Aang notice how she cradles the scroll to her chest as Appa goes high, breathing in what’s left of the woodsmoke and spiced tea leaf smell, they’re too busy comparing their pirate accents to bother letting her know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty please let me know your thoughts and feedback because I would love to know if I’m doing a good job!! It only takes a second and it would be greatly appreciated!! Reading all your wonderful comments keeps me writing as I plough on for Book Two.
> 
> Kudos always welcome, likes, dislikes, comments and complaints. Let me know what you guys think because I love reading them and finding out about you guys!


	12. Bato of the Watertribe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another piece of my heart for my lovely readers.
> 
> As always, you guys are amazing! I can't put into words how much I love to hear from all my readers!! It really motivates me to keep going, keeps me motivated and keeps me writing this fic!
> 
> Everyone who reads this, all my lovely Kudos giving superstars, please let me know what you thought of this chapter! Knowing I’ve done a good job means the world to me and keeps me pressing on into Book Two!!!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Waning light from low burning candles glints off the blue glass hanging in front of Zuko. One arm pillowing his head, the other holds the necklace before his face. He sinks into his melancholy as he does into his bed, watching the bead sway from the lightest movement of his scarred arm.

Push and pull, his mind cruelly taunts with each twitch. _At least I know now_. Know she's safe. Know she's healthy with her friends. Know they're making their way north. Know she hates him with all her being.

It shouldn't ache as much as it does. Her hatred is the only thing he's truly earned, aside from his scar. Both his scars. That weakness wasn't burned out of him, it seems. It didn’t bleed from the snake which weaves its cruel path from elbow to the palm of his hand. Even now, as he holds the reminder of it inches from his face, wants to put it down, away where he doesn't have to see it, he can't.

At least, not until a soft rap on his door pulls him from the light doze he was seconds from fully falling into. He sits up, tucking the necklace into his belt, before calling a hoarse, "Enter."

"Prince Zuko?" his uncle greets carefully. It seems his temper was easier for his uncle to navigate. Even when gripped by his worst moods, Uncle never stepped so cautiously around him as he does when he finds him like this. Maybe his bouts of fury are not easier, but more familiar. "I thought we could have evening tea together."

Zuko waves his uncle in, getting up from his bed to clear the table of the maps, scribblings, and eye-witness accounts of the Avatar. All compiled in a fruitless effort to pick up a trail. The best he came up with was a worthy distraction.

"You're getting close," his uncle observes as he gets to brewing.

"Not close enough." His fingers rub his tired eyes. "Nothing but word of mouth. Nothing concrete enough to set a course."

Iroh hums in thought, attention on his tea until he hands Zuko a steaming cup. "See Prince Zuko, a moment of quiet is good for your mental well-being. And I find a break and a good cup of tea can cure even the deepest of woes."

Deep as the ocean, Zuko thinks glumly as he brings his tea to his lips. It ends up all over his face, lap and chest when his boat rocks violently. Slamming the cup down, he races for the deck.

“Get back!” A female voice cracks like a whip. Except she’s snapping an actual whip. At his men. Zuko runs out to meet her. “Get back! We’re after a stowaway!”

“There are no stowaways on my ship,” Zuko announces.

He’s met with an amused and all to appraising look for his taste, before the girl snaps her whip again. The beast she’s mounted on shrieks at the unspoken command and, without hesitating, rips right through his metal hull. Zuko barely has the time to blink before he’s throwing himself down, metal sailing over his head. The beast dips into the hole.

A shriek fills the air, this one human, and a man in green robes dashes away from the monster. Zuko watches in stunned awe as a barbed tongue flicks out and strikes the back of the man’s neck. He sees no blood, no sign of puncture, but the man drops.

“He’s paralysed,” Zuko realises as the girl dismounts, stalking towards her prey.

“Only temporary.” Holding the man’s collar, she once again appraises Zuko, to the point he looks away, embarrassed. Her huff of amusement brings his eyes right back to hers. “The toxins will wear off in about an hour. But by then, he'll be in jail and I'll have my money.”

Bounty hunter, then, Zuko decides. “But how did you find him on my ship?”

“My shirshu can smell a rat a continent away.” She mounts the great, snarling beast, readies to kick off. “I’m good at finding things. If you’re looking to find me, ask for June.”

Zuko isn’t quite sure what happened as her and her beast bound away.

~ ~ ~

He’s pretty sure he’s got it figured out by the time he finds her again. The tavern she’s chosen to hole up in for the night is seedy and dank. A place filled with cheap ale and cheaper company. Zuko remembers such places from when he was fifteen.

Lieutenant Jee had just joined his personal retinue following a discharge from his previous unit due to substance abuse. Apparently, the lesson did not take. Looking to start off in his new superior officer’s good graces, he insisted to the fifteen-year-old Zuko that bonding with the crew over drinks would be a quick and easy way in to earning their respect. Really, it was Jee’s attempt to normalise his habit, make it seem nothing out of the ordinary to the spoiled prince. He probably thought he’d hit the jackpot in a commander looking to drink away his doubt, bitterness, and loathing.

Zuko responded by banning all alcohol on his ship. If his crew wanted to waste his hunt for the Avatar getting pissed out of their minds, then it had to be on the shore. And if they were too drunk or hungover to make it back by the time they set sail, Zuko saw it as no great loss.

Bodies shove and push against him as he marches through the press, pushing and shoving right back. Uncle simpers and commiserates in his wake, but Zuko only has words for the woman collecting her coin at the low table in the centre of the throng. The smoke makes his head hurt, so he focuses on the spiralling black snake inked into June’s pale shoulder. It writhes with each armful of coin she drags towards her.

She looks up from her pile, a sly half-smile slashing her mouth as they approach. “Must not have lost my charms after all.”

“Something even your beast couldn’t sniff out, I’m sure,” Zuko responds, taking the seat she doesn’t offer.

“My Shirshu,” she corrects, “can sniff out anything.”

“Good.” He reaches over and plucks a coin from her pile. Arms full, she watches him warily. “Your monster made extensive damage to my ship.”

“Well I’d love to help you out, but as you can see, I’m a little short on money.” She eyes him pointedly until he returns the pilfered coin to her pile. She grins, licks her bottom lip. “Drinks on me.”

The crowd surrounding Zuko cheers. Her attempts to remind him how outnumbered he and his uncle are do not faze him. When she lifts her drink to take a sip, he snatches her wrist before she can taste a drop. “Money isn’t what I had in mind.”

“I’m not that kind of girl.” She leans into his space, curling her hand so she can put the cup down and trace a finger along the inside of his wrist. Her eyebrow raises in interest when she bumps the ridges of his scar. “At least not sober. As for a bounty hunter, well, I’m not above using my charms.”

“As persuasive as I’m sure you are, I doubt that will work on our intended quarry,” Uncle chuckles from behind Zuko. His eyes have not left June once.

“Seems to be.” She winks playfully to Uncle, but she’s all lidded eyes and raspy innuendo to Zuko. Whatever she needs to get the job done, he supposes. While Zuko’s limited experience with women all start in the same smoky tavern setting as this, the women don’t usually already have the coin when he finds them.

“I need you to find someone.” He cuts to the point.

“Thought you already did that part.” The intent leaves her eyes when he doesn’t share her smirk. “Wait, you’re serious? You’re not here to-”

“No.” He looks around, at the men watching, more the pile of coin than them. Still, Zuko’s never been a fan of spectators. “Outside.”

Moth’s buzz around a greasy lantern, their wings parescoping the glow. Through the film of dirt, the light is oily and dim, but it catches the glass as light always seems to do. June leans against her beast and, even in the dim light, it is clear to all gathered the mirth is gone from her dark eyes. They zero in on the necklace Zuko holds up. “What happened, your girlfriend run off on you?”

She can’t possibly know, yet it still stings. “It's not the girl I'm after, it's the bald monk she's traveling with.”

A dark eyebrow lifts. “Whatever you say.”

It’s a raw wound she pokes at, one Zuko cuts deeper each time he wonders why it’s there. “If you find them, I’ll consider the damage to my ship paid for.”

The other eyebrow goes up, before they slam down together in a frown. “Look, kid, I don’t care who you say you’re looking for. I know a betrothal necklace when I see one. Whatever she’s trying to get away from, I think I’m starting to see, and I’m not going to sell a sister out like that.” In a fluid motion she’s twisted herself up into her beasts’ saddle. “Forget it.”

Zuko’s about to burn the snout off the creature, let her find her bounties then, when his Uncle hastily steps in front of him. “Plus, we’ll pay your weight in gold!”

This gives June pause. Dark eyes regard Iroh’s genuine smile, the air simmering around Zuko, before she slips down from her saddle. “Make it your weight.” She pokes Iroh’s ample stomach, “and you have a deal.”

~ ~ ~

June leads them in mad, short dashes across occupied Earth Kingdom country. Too close to the Puhoi stronghold for Zuko's liking, but the beast takes them around the mountains and up into the forest so deeply, only a particularly determined archer could get a shot through those trees.

A hermit herbalist is no help. Mad as a bat, she talks to her cat as if it's human, but she accurately guesses they’re of the Fire Nation at a glance. Zuko feels her eyes on his back until they descend the other side of the mountain, continuing the hunt.

Makapu village quakes in the shadow of the huge, smoking volcano. Zuko can feel its heat raining down upon the villagers. They scream and scamper out of the Shirshu's way as it bounds up the steps of an old ornate house, where a woman waits with folded arms. She does not scream, does not so much as blink as the monster's long snout stops inches from her own.

As if she were expecting them.

"Why are we stopping here?" Zuko asks, annoyed by how the old, grey woman is looking at him.

"The girl must have spent a lot of time here," June answers as her beast snorts and stomps across the perimeter of the house. The old woman continues to watch Zuko.

"We don't have time for this!" But it appears the beast has other plans, snapping and snarling at Zuko when he tries to get it to sniff the necklace again.

"Watertribe," a crotchety voice muses behind him.

"What?" Zuko snaps.

The woman doesn't blink as she points to his hand. "The necklace. Tied tight about the wrist. You fear losing it?"

Zuko frowns. Her tone is all too knowing. "It's proving useful."

"Keep it close all you want, young prince, it will not fix what you lost.” Her cool eyes stoke the simmering embers of his soul. “It will not soothe the ache in your spirit or heal the cracks in your heart."

Zuko's good eye widens. "How do you know who I am?"

The old woman smiles. "Trade secret. Let her know you're doing okay, by the way. It'll ease the storm of her soul."

"We're leaving!" Zuko announces.

"No, you are not."

"I don't know who you think you are, you old bag, but-"

"She's right," June cuts him off. The woman smiles pleasantly at him as June and Uncle dismount. "Nyla's been running all day. We'll pick the trail up in the morning."

~ ~ ~

Makapu does not wilt in the brilliant sunset. Smoke billows from the volcano, but the villagers have no fear the monster could erupt. They trust their fortune teller. Zuko, sitting on the veranda of Aunt Wu's home in the upper level of her shop he, Iroh and June have been invited to stay in for the night, has thoroughly decided he does not like the old woman. Roof or no roof, she's far too smug about something Zuko can't put his finger on. Over dinner, whenever she caught his eye, she'd offer a secret smile and go about her meal, sharing conversation with Iroh, perfectly content ignoring the brash June. Like they shared something, yet Zuko is glad her name is only one syllable, or he'd sooner forget it.

His thumb rubs the glass bead of Katara's necklace as he watches the light dip below the volcanos lip. Stars wink in and out of existence as the sun starts its descent. He shouldn't touch it so much; it will start to lose its scent. But if he's not looking at it, touching it, he's thinking about it. So, he looks at the volcano and thinks about the Helldivers of his home. Are they harvesting the Agni's Soul rocks? Is it just as dangerous as diving deep into the depths of the ocean? Did Katara think about the Helldivers, about him, when she looked at this volcano.

And now he's thinking about her again.

The screen door is pulled open behind him. "Uncle, I already said I didn't want evening t-"

June plonks herself unceremoniously beside him on the balcony. Despite their dinner, she polishes an apple on her sleeve. Red and delicious looking, his eyes follow as her lips fold around the skin and she takes a bite.

"What's her name?"

Zuko blinks. "Excuse me?"

"The girl. What's her name?” She takes another bite. She keeps talking through her mouthful. “Normally I like to know as little about who I'm hunting as possible. You've caught me bored, so spill."

"There is no girl," Zuko mutters.

June barks a laugh. "You know I hunt people for a living, right? I didn't always have Nyla to do it. Before her, I had to talk to find out where my prey was. I had to learn to read faces, tell when people were lying to me. And right now, you haven't said anything true beyond your name since we met." The apple snaps as she takes another bite. The sound is fuzzy in Zuko's mottled left ear. "Now, you're a young, hot blooded male. I'm a hot, young female. Yet you want nothing to do with me, even if you must be as hard up than an Earthbender in the North Pole.

“Now, there's only two reasons why a man puts himself through that. Judging by the way you've been watching my little show with this apple, I'm guessing you don't prefer to ride the double-headed dragon."

Zuko coughs.

"Oh, maybe I'm half right then. Either way, it's not that, unless your little pirate crew takes good care of you. But I'll take my chances and bet it's reason number two." She leans close. Close enough Zuko can smell the tang of apple and spiced wine on her breath. "You’ve got another girl on the mind."

"You're quite vulgar," Zuko sniffs, not looking at her.

"I'm a woman who likes to get things done, and that includes having her needs met." She finishes the apple, tossing the core over the balcony. Standing with a sigh, she wipes her hand on Zuko's back. "Do yourself a favour, princeling, remember that if you ever see your girl again."

He breathes a sigh of relief when she’s gone, a plume of red fire coming out with it. Cursed woman knows exactly how alluring she is, even if she is a little pale for Zuko’s taste.

“She is right.” His relief sours as Aunt Wu pads softly out onto the balcony. She doesn’t sit and take liberties with Zuko’s space like June, walking out and putting her hands on the balcony rail. “Your uncle is a remarkable man, so much wisdom after so many adventures. Not that I couldn’t tell of course, but he was resistant to my offer of a reading. ‘At my age, there's really only one big surprise left, and I'd just as soon leave it a mystery’. Of all the reasons I’ve heard not to know one’s future, that, I think, is my favourite. Would you like one?”

Zuko scoffs. “And have you ask me nonsensical questions? Have me think you know me by agreeing? It’s not some magical coincidence; you say my grandfather is trying to speak to me from beyond the sun’s warmth. I ask which one, the one who limped or the one who favoured his pipe, and you have an answer I’m supposed to be impressed by. I know exactly how your kind work. No, thank you.”

He just wants to be left to watch the last of the sunset.

Aunt Wu laughs. “I knew a young man like you. No theory in his life. Facts above all else. The girl he was with though, she could learn from you. She started like everyone else who comes to me. ‘What is my fortune?’ ‘Will I find wealth? Fame?’ Like most young women her age, she asked if she would find love.”

She pauses. Tense behind her, Zuko bites his tongue.

“I told her she would marry a powerful bender.”

Bitterness fills Zuko. Power. It’s all everyone wants. Those who have the wealth of it at their fingertips always want more. He learned that at the burning hand of his father, from the sharp tilt to his sisters smile as her eyes set upon new prey.

He’s come to learn those who were lucky enough to grasp the insubstantial fragments of power are desperate only to keep hold of it. He never pegged Katara to care about any of it. And as quickly as the notion occurs to him, he knows she’d only care so long as it can be redistributed to those lowly unlucky souls.

Aunt Wu talks over his musings, and for once he’s glad for her droning voice. He crept far too close to thinking about her again.

“For most, that would be enough. Then she comes back and asks for more information. Apparently, she knows quite a few powerful benders. Wanted it narrowed down. Especially for a young man. He holds a special place in her heart, but it’s shadowed with worry, confusion, and she was desperate to find the right path. Above all, she asked me one simple question. Is he okay? Fortunes don’t work that way, I explained.

“So, she begins asking me every question under the sun. Process of elimination, she called it.” Zuko snorts against his will. Katara would like this girl. “What shoes she should wear. Whether she should put her hair up or down. She even asked if she should have mango or papaya for her breakfast. Who needs to know something that specific? Eventually, I just began agreeing with whatever the last thing she said was.”

It’s out of his mouth before he can think better of it. “Katara doesn’t like papaya.”

He knows it’s a mistake the second Aunt Wu looks slyly at him over her shoulder. “I don’t recall telling you the young girls name.”

He schools his features, willing the flush on the back of his neck not to spread. Gloom from the evening does its best to wash the heat away. “More than one girl can dislike stone fruit. My sister hates peaches.”

She doesn’t, but the point still stands.

“Yet you thought of one name in particular.”

“Yet you lied to her face on multiple occasions.” He’s given up the pretence of pretending they’re not talking about the only girl which dominates his mind.

“Ah, but did I?” Aunt Wu turns fully to him. “The last thing I said to her was that we make our own destinies. Case and point, she didn’t have to eat the papaya. I doubt she’s eaten one since. If things were set in stone, there would be no Makapu village left. We would be a footnote of history, brought up in those old debates of Kyoshi against Yun the false Avatar, and you would not be sitting here listening to an old woman wax on.”

“My destiny is to bring the Avatar to the Fire Nation and restore my honour,” Zuko growls.

Aunt Wu smiles to herself, looking up at the heavy, purple sky. “Destiny is like the clouds, dear boy.”

He waits for her to elaborate. She doesn’t.

~ ~ ~

“So, this is your girlfriend?” June wrangles her Shirshu as Zuko jumps down from the back of her saddle. Pretending Katara isn’t there is the easiest way he can get through this. Focus on the Avatar, that’s what matters here. “No wonder she left, she's way too pretty for you.”

Katara extends him the same curtesy, glaring over at June as he stands in front of the prone Sokka. It’s the first time he wonders if the Shirshu’s venom is painful, before he squashes the concern. “Where is he? Where is the Avatar?”

~ ~ ~

The Avatar finds them. Zuko isn’t surprised, letting go of Katara’s limp body to leap from the saddle. He worries about leaving her strung across the Shirshu’s back without him to hold her steady, until the Avatar’s brutish bison rams the Shirshu when it tries to sting his master.

“Hey!” The roar leaves his throat before he can stop it.

For a moment, the Avatar is gone. Zuko can only watch the bodies strike stone. Nun’s get to Katara and her brother before Zuko can, pulling them to safety.

He closes in on the Avatar in a series of blasts. Air stings past Zuko’s head. Fire creates beads of sweat down the swell of the airbenders skull. Unrelenting force sucks them into each other, until their elements meet and blasts between them. Zuko’s armour takes the brunt of the fall, stone tiles crunching underneath him as he slams into the low roof.

Below them, bison and Shirshu battle it out. Zuko’s never seen anything as fearsome as the bison as it fights Nyla’s poison. Roaring, spitting, throwing its full weight into the battle. June fare’s poorly, thrown from the Shirshu after a brutal head on collision the monster had no hope of winning. Her whip lashes out across the bison’s flank and even Zuko flinches at the dirty trick. The responding stomp of a giant paw breaks the earth underneath, and Zuko rescinds his pity.

The Avatar watches too, so Zuko charges while he’s distracted. The boy notices right before he’s struck with Zuko’s whip of flame. It misses, singes the soles of his slippered feet, then Zuko’s lifted off his feet and thrown into a corner tower of the abbey courtyard. The Airbender tries to press his advantage, but Zuko sees movement from the corner of his eye and dives. The Avatar’s met with the snarling, furious Shirshu. The beast’s seconds from tearing him apart if not for a whip of wind from the bison’s tail.

The Avatar heads for the well. Zuko cuts him off, forcing him onto the lip with two successive blasts of fire, trapping him with twin arcs of flame circling from his outstretched hands.

The boy’s eyes widen, then, as Zuko feels the glass bead swing loose of its secure knot, lock in on the familiar, warming glint. “You have something I want!”

He ducks into the wells pully system. Unable to crawl in after him, Zuko crushes the flimsy wooden bean structure with a single kick and chases the lithe monk around the rim. No matter how Zuko tries to trap him, the boy slips his shots, effortlessly twirling around the wells stone rim, snatching for the necklace tied to Zuko’s arm.

Bellowing, Zuko lunges for him. But, without looking, the airbender is changing his momentum to fly backwards, foot slipping between the band and Zuko’s wrist. He disappears into the well, a blast of fire following. Zuko realises his mistake too late as his blast of fire is extinguished in the jet of water shooting from the depths of the well. It strikes him in the face, taking him off his feet. All he can feel is water, see water, until he crashes back down, soaked, onto the hard stone ground.

He’s up in time to see the Shirshu going nuts. He doesn’t know where to look. The Avatar’s going for his glider. June’s whip cracks the air. The watertribe boy is yelling for the nuns to push!

And Katara’s there. Face a picture of concentration as balls of the foul-smelling water bend to her whim. He’s mesmerised, amazed by her control. How could she ever think she needed a powerful bender to compliment her when, before his eyes, her juvenile power can twist perfume into weapons, blind savage beasts, and break through metal like it were paper?

Until the Shirshu shrieks, blinded and tortured by the stinking perfume, and charges right through Zuko and June in its escape from the monastery.

~ ~ ~

Poison weighs him down, yet Zuko’s wrist has never felt so light, so cold. He’s up, so to speak, able to pull himself to sit back against the monastery wall and wait for the last of the effects to wear off.

His uncle does not try to cheer him, talk to him, or even continue his shameless flirting with June. She’s long gone anyway, shaking her head at Zuko, not surprised when she’s given a few gold pieces for her troubles and no offer of thanks. Iroh helps the women of the abbey clean the spilled perfume, leaving Zuko to trace the pale skin of his wrist until the feeling returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty please let me know your thoughts and feedback because I would love to know if I’m doing a good job!! It only takes a second and it would be greatly appreciated!! Reading all your wonderful comments keeps me writing as I plough on for Book Two.
> 
> Kudos always welcome, likes, dislikes, comments and complaints. Let me know what you guys think because I love reading them and finding out about you guys!


	13. The Deserter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you guys are amazing! I can't put into words how much I love to hear from all my readers!! It really motivates me to keep going, keeps me motivated and keeps me writing this fic!
> 
> Everyone who reads this, all my lovely Kudos giving superstars, please let me know what you thought of this chapter! Knowing I’ve done a good job means the world to me and keeps me pressing on into Book Two!!!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

_“Aunt Wu?” Katara knocked gently on the wooden doorframe, hesitating on the threshold of the old woman’s shop. Meng had gone home for the day, and Katara was glad for it. She wasn’t sure why, but it seemed like the young girl had a problem with how much Katara was coming to talk to her boss._

_“Yes, how can I h- Katara? Child, haven’t you already come to me, today?” There’re too many lines on the aged woman’s face to tell if she’s confused or irritated._

_“Yes, but I realised...” She’s not sure how to go on._

_Aunt Wu’s face softens. “What’s troubling you, child?”_

_“I forgot to ask you something.”_

_“You forget now, child, I know your fortune,” the old woman snorts good naturedly. “I can assure you, you forgot nothing.”_

_“That’s the thing,” Katara presses on, looking at the low candlelight of the fast approaching evening. “It’s not my fortune.”_

_Aunt Wu’s grey eyebrows disappear into her grey hairline. “You want me to look into someone else’s future for you?”_

_“No!” Katara stammers. She should have thought this through more before coming here. “N-no. Not his future. I couldn’t... It would be wrong to know his destiny. He seems to think he does, but he’s wrong.”_

_Aunt Wu listens through her rambling thoughts, patient as melting ice caps._

_“I just... he’s alone now, or he thinks he is. He doesn’t understand how much he has. What’s been lost is all that consumes him, he wants it back. Yet if he gets it back that means we never would have-” She cuts herself off. “I only know what he was like before and during when I knew him. Now...”_

_“You want to know if he’s okay after.” Aunt Wu doesn’t need to ask, grey eyes piercing through the encroaching gloom. “I’m sorry, child, but my predictions are just that. I could not tell you what you wish to know, any more than I could tell you what colour his eyes are without ever looking at them.”_

Gold _, Katara thinks glumly, like the rising sun._

~ ~ ~

“What do you think, Katara?”

“What?” Katara looks up from watching her feet make tracks in the ground, blinking as yellows, golds and reds fill her vision.

Zuko? Then she remembers. Aang touched them down in a soft autumn forest to give Appa a break. Auburn and russet leaves cling healthily to their branches, but winter is on its way. Ahead of her, Momo chitters as he clings to the side of a roadside kiosk, pawing at the brightly lit posters.

“Oh, good idea, Aang.” She walks towards the kiosk’s most brightly lit poster. “This should give us a good idea of what's around here.”

Aang beams while Sokka paws hungrily at their shared travel pack, producing nothing but a few measly crumbs. “See if you can find a menu, I'm starving!”

“I bet we’ll find something to eat here.” Aang comes up next to Katara. His grey eyes trace the words, growing rounder and more excited as he reads. “Fire Day Festival. Fire Nation cultural exhibits, jugglers, benders, magicians. This would be a great place for me to study some real firebenders!”

Katara’s about to answer when Sokka’s voice from the other side of the kiosk cuts her off. “You might want to rethink that idea. Look at this.”

Aang is not as worried as he should be when he sees his face on the board. In fact, he’s downright ecstatic as he rips it off. “A wanted poster. How daring,” he laughs, looking at Katara.

She doesn’t find it as funny. “We should keep moving.” The other posters on the board are equal in tone. A man with twin scars on his face stares disdainfully down towards the town which hosts the festival. Beneath him, a screaming blue spirit bares angry fangs at anyone who thinks to look at it too long.

Aang gives that one a little more of his attention when he notices Katara looking at it. “I have to learn firebending at some point and this could be my only chance to watch a master's up close.” He moves between her and the poster, looking pleadingly up into her eyes. “Please, Katara?”

Her eyes flick over the posters again. There does seem to be a lot of divided attention. Surely it couldn’t hurt if they keep their heads down. “I guess we could go check it out.”

Aang whoops, taking her hands and dancing her away from the kiosk, towards the path into town. Sokka blocks their path before they can begin descending the hill. “You wanna walk into a Fire Nation town where they're all fired-up with their ... you know, fire? Katara, I think all that time you spent stuck on Zuko’s ship fried your brains.”

Katara doesn’t like to be reminded of those past months. Neither, it seems, does Aang. He frowns, becoming serious.

“We'll wear disguises,” she quells before an argument can break out. “And if it looks like trouble, we'll leave.”

~ ~ ~

Leaving is the last thing on Katara’s mind as they take their first cautious steps into the festival. Everything is bright and warm despite the autumn chill, the air hot and buzzing with candles, banners and a hundred excited voices. Children run around in masks of all colours, giggling and crying out when a particularly present black wailing dragon jumps out at them. Katara can’t figure out the significance; it wasn’t something that came up in her time with Zuko. She tries not to dwell, instead keeping her mind present, on the fun she rarely gets to grab for herself.

Aang shares her excitement, awed by everything he sees in his open, enthusiastic face. It’s a face that will get them into trouble if they’re not careful. Only after it’s covered by a smiling blue spirit being hugged by sun like yellow petals does she ask him if anything reminds him of his time before he was frozen in the ice.

“Oh, everything is amazing, Katara!” He exclaims. “Just you wait. There’ll be demonstrations, competitions - both for benders and nonbenders - stuff to show off their skills at the martial practices. And competitions to see who can eat the hottest chilis. And the dancing!” He smiles dreamily, wistfulness taking him back to balls, parties and festivals a century gone. “The Fire Nation is home to some of the greatest dancers ever.”

“Fire Nation citizens don’t dance anymore, Aang,” Katara corrects. “Sozin implemented a strict outlawing.”

“What? That’s crazy!” Aang cries before she can lay out Ozai’s manipulation. Sokka isn’t listening to them anymore, leading their procession with his stomach. “Are you sure?”

Sokka dashes ahead of them before she can answer, pulled by the delicious scents across the plaza. Katara and Aang follow but she pulls up just short of the stand as a familiar, spice and butter scent hits her. Pouches of something she’s never seen before are up front, but spitting away behind the man is a hot, cylindrical disc suspended over a firebenders working flame. Mounds of dough flatten and puff up, gorgeously speckled with charred brown spots. It’s much more well-presented, but the smell is the same as the flat breads and curried komodochiken katsu curry transport her back to every time Zuko would juggle open her cell door with one hand, a tray carrying a steaming bowl and dry piece of flatbread in the other.

Far from stewed sea prunes, the heat of the dish took some getting used to. Squinting in memory, Zuko’s amused half smile watches her force the first few bites down from the periphery of her vision. It blurs each time she tries to look at it, so much like Zuko himself whenever anything close to appreciation or praise came too close.

He’s okay. She makes herself remember Aunt Wu’s not-prediction, then silently chastises herself for caring. He certainly didn’t, if his behaviour at the abbey was any indication. He barely even looked at her. Why does she care?

“What are those?” Sokka points to the steaming bags.

“Flaming Fire Flakes!” The stall manager proclaims. “Best in town.”

“I’ll take ‘em,” Sokka says, paying the man and gobbling down the bag before Katara can warn him. At least his choking spasms provide an amusing distraction from her pitying thought spiral.

““Flaming fire flakes", hot? What do you know?” she says, barely paying attention.

Around her, life removed from war sprouts between the cracks of devastation. True, soldiers parade around, but their presence is more formal than threatening. Security measures stretching into the simple Fire Nation village. Life is happening everywhere, in its purest forms. If not for the banners, cultural demonstrations, and the heady scent of spices that cling to Firebenders, she could mistake this place for an Earth Kingdom town far too easily.

Aang grows bored and leads them to a puppet show, then another firebending exhibition, flitting between side shows and demonstrations as easily as his element. It should have been her first warning, how easily he grew distracted. But he was excited for the first time in weeks and was funnelling it into pursuing his bending. In a way, it was her own impatience which led to their cover being blown.

If it weren’t for Chey, they’d never have made it out of that festival.

He’s the most passively eccentric man she’s ever met. It’s not only that he’s strange, but he seems to be operating on a different plain of existence to everyone else as he explains what he was doing at the festival. “I serve a man. More than a man really, he's a myth, but he's real, a living legend. Jeong Jeong the Deserter. He was a Fire Nation general, or wait, was he an admiral?”

“He was very highly ranked, we get it,” Sokka says, still not trusting the ex-Fire Nation soldier.

“Yeah! Way up there!” Chey exclaims, completely missing Sokka’s sarcasm. “But he couldn't take the madness anymore. He's the first person ever to leave the army - and live. I'm the second, but you don't get to be a legend for that.”

Katara watches Chey closely. His utter devotion to this mysterious Jeong Jeong borders on zealotry. Any Fire Nation admiration she’s witnessed, meagre though it may be, is not this enthusiastic. They portion out their praise like each word are the scraps of a last meal. Even gentle, sharing Iroh was never this indulgent with his adoration.

Chey bulls on, oblivious to Katara’s attention. “That's okay though. Jeong Jeong's a firebending genius. Some say he's mad - but he's not! He's enlightened.”

“Risen like a new sun?” Katara suggests, much to Aang and Sokka’s confusion.

“Exactly! She gets it!” Chey cries in excitement.

~ ~ ~

She should have seen the second warning the next morning.

Through her breathing, pushing, and pulling, Aang and Jeong Jeong yell at each other. Well, Jeong Jeong yells, Aang whines. She does her best to tune him out, but his unbroken voice pitches so high sometimes, she’s surprised panther-wolves haven’t come looking to see what all the fuss is about.

“Wider!” Jeong Jenog snaps in regard to Aang’s stance. “Bend your knees!”

Katara’s own weight shifts through the movements of the water whip smoothly, but her patience is growing thin from all the yelling. Her legs know the pull against the water’s push, so she tries widening her own stance a little, testing the waters of this new way, so to speak, and finds she can’t shift as easily, but the whip’s extension almost doubles with the wider centre of gravity. A sweet ache begins to burn in her thighs. Her breathing deepens as a response, and soon, everything works in sync.

Push, pull. In, out. Forwards and... Except she isn’t moving backwards. A wider stance shifts her more side to side. She can dip her shoulder and slip instead of step. She needs one hand to brace the new distribution of weight, but she can move around instead of retreating.

Never move backwards, rasps a voice in her mind. No opening appears if a man lets himself be pushed. Bend with the strikes, let them create space for you to move around and-

“What are you doing?”

She’s so startled she almost falls over. Only the hand grabbing her bicep keeps her from tumbling into the river. But Jeong Jeong doesn’t hold, letting her sprawl on her knees in the mud.

“Practicing?” Katara pants, the word sounding more like a question.

The Fire Master eyes her. Twin scars crease the right side of his elderly face. Not for the first time, Katara wonders just how old he is. As old as Iroh? Older? He must have served with the Fire Nation for a long time. And, if Chey is anything to go by, he’s quite adept at making a name for himself.

“Master?” Aang pipes up. His heads twisted almost all the way around, trying to get a look at what’s happening on the bank. “What’s with the walking off? I thought we-”

“Silence! Talking is not concentrating! Look at your friend, is she talking?” Jeong Jeong gestures as Katara bends the mud from her knees. “Carry on, child.”

Like he’s granting her permission. Did her trying out the firebending style offend him that much?

Aang’s face screws into a frown. “But what am I concentrating on?”

“Feel the heat of the sun. It is the greatest source of fire. Yet, it is in complete balance with nature!”

Trying not to feel self-conscious, Katara returns to her bending, legs closer together, breathing deep as Jeong Jeong resumes his yelling.

It doesn’t get better from there. Self-control was everything to Zuko. Iroh taught him mastery over breathing before all else. Yet no matter how many times Jeong Jeong tries to hammer home the importance of discipline to Aang, the young boy pushes back.

Katara begins to worry so much she can barely concentrate on her own practice. Aang might think he knows all the elements on a theoretical level, but Katara’s seen fire in action. More importantly, she’s seen Zuko put the discipline of his bending into practice without creating a so much as a spark. He takes it as seriously as he takes his quest to hunt Aang down. But if she were to say that, Aang would think he doesn’t take his duty of Avatar seriously.

It’s as she’s pondering how to broach the subject of how to give her advice without criticism or compare, when Jeong Jeong does the opposite.

“I had a pupil once who had no interest in learning discipline. He was only concerned with the power of fire - how he could use it to destroy his opponents and wipe out the obstacles in his path.” Even from outside his hut, Katara can hear how weary he sounds. “Fire is a horrible burden to bear. Its nature is to consume and without control it destroys everything around it.”

Her mind goes to Zuko against her will. Is this how he feels? Is this why he spends hours at a time in front of that shrine? His discipline almost put her to sleep, but what could she expect? Still water calms, soothes the burn from the soul. Fire, by its very nature, can never be still, so Zuko forces himself to be until practically comatose.

Ironically, the only other element which could understand that need for control is air.

“Learn restraint, or risk destroying yourself and everything you love.”

Aang understands and proves it by sitting outside Jeong Jeong's hut all night. Rising with the moon, Katara sits by the riverside and meditates. Feels the cool embrace of the moon. Feels it shift the tides in her blood. She can almost feel every vessel pulsing through her body. At one point she must drift off. Hazy imaginings of her controlling a puppet, only the puppet has no strings. It's like its body is linked to her fingers, dancing to her whims.

Jeong Jeong's voice wakes her from the dream, though by how cold she feels, remembering that helpless puppet, she wonders if it were more of a nightmare.

"We're going to work with fire now."

Aang's exuberant reaction puts an icicle of dread in Katara's stomach. Sitting up, she pays close attention to what Jeong Jeong instructs of Aang, much to the young monk’s displeasure.

"This is the worst firebending instruction ever! All he does is leave me for hours to concentrate or breathe!" Aang huffs the moment Jeong Jeong is gone, off to see to some trouble down the river.

"I'm sure there's a good reason," Katara tries, but Aang isn't buying it. "Power in firebending comes from breathing, Aang. That's what Jeong Jeong wants you to understand."

"I already understand it fi-" Aang stops, looking away from his leaf to her. "How did you know that?"

"Know what?" She does her best to affect an innocent air.

"Know about firebending. Jeong Jeong only told me that yesterday."

"I dunno. I breathe for my waterbending. Here, I'll show you." She folds her legs under her by the bank. "Bring it in for eight, hold, out for eight." She shows him, feeling her pulse slow.

"I'm a monk, Katara. I know how to meditate," Aang's voice teases good-naturedly.

"That's what Jeong Jeong is trying to tell you, Aang. This isn't the meditation you're familiar with. It's more. Have you ever meditated and sprinted at the same time?"

"Jeeze, Katara, maybe you should be my firebending teacher.” Aang’s good nature is beginning to bleed into frustration. “You already got the broken record part down."

She opens her eyes to glare at him, but stops short as he waves his hand, and the leaf in his palm sparks to life.

"I did it! I made fire!"

Katara watches him juggle it between his hands. The icicle grows colder, spreading throughout her stomach. "That's great, but you should take it slow."

He doesn't listen, tossing it back and forth, over his head, behind his back. Taking his eyes off the flame, laughing as he passes it from hand to hand, then pushes out and a blast sears the open sky over the river.

"You're going to hurt yourself!" Katara tries to warn. "Breathe, slow down!"

"I want to know how that juggler did it." He throws the fire up and spreads his arms wide. His smile shines bright in the circle of flames. It grows wider and wider, the flames feeding off his excitement.

The third warning hits her the exact moment the flames do.

Throwing her hands up is all she can do to protect herself, crying out as pain lances down her fingers, onto her palms. It hurts worse than anything she's ever felt. It evaporates the air in her lungs, her cries choking. She's vaguely aware of Aang's cries, Sokka pushing her behind him before he flies at Aang in a rage.

"You burned my sister!"

The words follow her as she flees downriver.

~ ~ ~

A benders hands are everything to them, and that is especially true for a waterbender.

Firebenders can exhale flames. Earthbenders can kick the earth from its place. Aang can skip and flow with the winds at his leisure. But Katara’s control begins and ends with her hands.

When Zuko had her cuffed it felt like he was keeping a part of herself hostage. Even when he let her up on deck with her hands bound, the fact she couldn’t touch the water, feel it between her fingertips, was the cruellest kindness she doubts he knew he gave.

Now her hands are ugly, scarred things. Livid and fresh, the burns twist around her fingers, hissing in pain like vengeful, mocking snakes. It’s all she can do to hold in the cry of anguish as she looks at them. No matter where she is, who she is with, Fire will always take something from her. First her people, then her mother. It’s trying to take her element from her. It wants to take Aang, but she won’t let it.

But before she can go back, she must try to soothe the pain. It’s too raw right now. If her nerves are tested, she’ll say or do something she’ll regret. Aang isn’t the only one learning to temper a flame within their soul. Luckily, only Katara can be burned by hers. So, she starts by dipping her hands in the water. She whimpers. It hurts like crazy.

Breathe, she reminds herself. In for eight, hold, exhale. She breathes until the pain feels almost non-existent. Almost too easy. Opening her eyes, she gasps at the soft blue light surrounding her cupped hands, almost as if the water has taken them gently, inspecting the mottled flesh.

When she draws them free of the river, and the water drips away, her burns are gone. The pain is gone.

“How...”

“You have healing abilities.” Jeong Jeong approaches her, hesitating at her side, and she realises he is waiting for her permission before he sits.

Stunned, she nods. She thought he didn’t like her, but it seems the master holds her in much higher regard than she realised as he folds himself down next to her.

He’s hesitant, shifting in the loose sand. When he speaks, regret for a thousand actions weighs his voice to barely a rumble. “The great benders of the Water Tribe sometimes have this ability. I've always wished I were blessed like you - free from this burning curse.”

“You’re a master,” Katara argues, but honestly, she’s stumbling her way through this. “You have power I’ll never know.”

Jeong Jeong regards her with a sideways look, like he can’t bear to tear his eyes away from the cool water. Is that why he lives on its edge? She didn’t give it much thought before, but seeing how he slumps under the weight of his own power, shies away from his inner flame’s warm embrace, living near the only thing powerful enough to quench him, sheds a new light in Katara’s eyes. “Water brings healing and life. Fire brings only destruction and pain. It forces those of us burdened with its care to walk a razor's edge between humanity and savagery.” He shudders with an exhale. “Eventually, we are torn apart.”

He dips an old, gnarled hand into the water. Ripples spread across the surface, and as Katara watches the little waves disappear, she breathes deeply.

“Water is not only gentle, and it can bring death just as easily as life.”

The master waits quietly, sensing there is more, knowing she needs to make sense of it herself.

“I won’t presume to understand the destruction you carry. But I’ll wager those scars came from something else. Water tried to kill me. It got hold and tried to drag me down and without-” Without Zuko, she’d have died. With Zuko she could have died. It goes around and around. It thunders through her like a waterfall without end.

“Your flame burns in you. Agni warms the back of your neck and you remember to be thankful. Since that night, water has only left me cold.”

Jeong Jeong doesn’t know what to say, she knows because elderly men like him and Iroh may not have the answer, but they have the experience of long life. It is invaluable, and something she’s watched Zuko, Aang, Sokka, too many, dismiss. Now, more than ever, she needs some.

“You know the prayer rites of my people,” he finally croaks. “Even they have forgotten their values.”

She almost laughs. “I... spent some time in study of culture. Your pupil, Iroh, holds your teachings dearly.”

The white bushy eyebrows disappear into the white bushy hairline. “How did yo-”

He cuts himself off with a violent shove to Katara’s shoulder. A second later, the water in front of them bursts apart. Violently hot showers almost scald the pair but Jeong Jeong’s aged appearance hides a deceptively agile man. He throws a wall of fire against the hell rain, evaporating it.

“Get your friends and flee!” Jeong Jeong roars. Another wall of flame erupts around him, snaking through the hot sand and shearing the ships off their section of river. “Go!”

Katara spares the master one last look, before rushing off to find Sokka.

~ ~ ~

Aang’s wide grey eyes go even wider as Katara lifts the burn from his shoulder. He looks between his shoulder and her hands. Maybe it’s the adrenaline of facing Zhao that puts a few seconds between the point and his getting it. “Wow, that’s good water.”

“When did you learn that?” Sokka gawks, leaning over to poke at Aang’s freshly healed shoulder.

“I guess I always knew,” Katara answers, not because it’s true, but because she’s not in the mood to be pestered. But, in true Sokka fashion, he rakes her over the coals over past injuries she left unattended. “Knew of, Sokka. I also couldn’t water whip until a month ago.”

He huffs, but when she catches him looking at her hands he’s smiling.

Aang looks too, and, as if he’s worried he’ll hurt her again, carefully takes her hand. “I’m so sorry, Katara. I’ll never, ever, _ever,_ do anything so stupid again.”

“I know Aang.” She pulls him into a hug, one he sinks into, grips tightly at her back. “But you will have to firebend. You know that, right?”

His fingers clench her tunic. “You didn’t see him, Katara,” he says in way of answer as he pulls back. “Zhao was out of control. Jeong Jeong was right, he was so obsessed with burning everything down, he didn’t realise what he was doing. What if I’m no better? What if I can’t even control a little flame again?”

“You will,” Katara insists, gripping his shoulder. “Zhao may have been his last pupil, but he couldn’t understand Jeong Jeong’s lesson. He couldn’t understand the nature of his teachings.”

“But neither could I, even when I tried.”

“You will, eventually.” Katara squeezes his shoulder. “We’ll practice it together. I can show you what Jeong Jeong was trying to teach you.”

Aang tilts his head up at her. “Show me what?”

“The Snapping Willow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty please let me know your thoughts and feedback because I would love to know if I’m doing a good job!! It only takes a second and it would be greatly appreciated!! Reading all your wonderful comments keeps me writing as I plough on for Book Two.
> 
> Kudos always welcome, likes, dislikes, comments and complaints. Let me know what you guys think because I love reading them and finding out about you guys!


	14. The Waterbending Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you guys are amazing! I can't put into words how much I love to hear from all my readers!! It really motivates me to keep going, keeps me motivated and keeps me writing this fic!
> 
> Everyone who reads this, all my lovely Kudos giving superstars, please let me know what you thought of this chapter! Knowing I’ve done a good job means the world to me and keeps me pressing on into Book Two!!!
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> Thank you for reading!

The Northern ice gates are a sight to behold, but Katara's excitement whirls within a snowstorm of dread. Sokka and Aang are gasping in delight, watching the waterbenders shift the ice to their whim as easily as fingers drag through water. She should be joining them. But she can see it in their faces as they spot the rare sight of watertribe southerners.

Right now, the South Pole is a blip of memory, a footnote to this wonderous experience. It will have to be Katara herself who breaks the news.

She does her best to enjoy the splendour. The city, for it can only be a city to Katara's wide, experienced eyes, is tiered so the palace looks out upon it's subjects like a ponderous snowbear owl watching over its brood. Unlike the South's rudimentary huts penned in by bone supported snow walls, the North is carved from the glaciers. No summer sun can melt these walls, no mad scrambling of the city inhabitants to work before morning turns the ground to slush.

Icediving didn’t become extinct, the need for them became obsolete.

Faced with the majesty, the fortification and power, Katara misses her home, her ice and her Gran-Gran as acutely as ever.

~ ~ ~

The first Waterbending Master Katara meets has to be the only man not enjoying the celebrations.

Chief Arnook, bold in nature as ice under a warm sun, welcomes the delegation with a feast and an embrace for Katara and Sokka each. “Brother! Sister! My father and myself thought us orphaned up here for decades. I’m so sorry we didn’t send aid sooner. The Northern watertribe has abstained from the war for so long, but that is because all we are fighting for is here.”

“We regret our inability to send aid,” the sour-faced older master with a grey goatee adds. Formality drips from him, coating him in a vastly different essence to the jubilation Arnook expresses. If he thinks just saying it is the same as meaning it, spitting the words out while barely looking at them, sets Katara on edge.

“No longer!” Arnook announced then as he announces now, seated before his people on the high frozen dais. Low braziers burn at the peak of every table, bathing his people in warm, waxy light. “Tonight, we celebrate not only the arrival of our brother and sister from the Southern Tribe, but the south’s resurrection. For so long we thought you lost, mourned our spirits being cleaved in half by this war. From the bottom of my heart I welcome you back from the dead.” The man practically has tears in his eyes as he grips Sokka and Katara’s forearms. “And they have brought with them, someone very special, someone whom many of us believed disappeared from the world until now... the Avatar!”

Aang waves cheerfully to the applauding crowd, and Katara is pleased to note he doesn’t bask so readily this time in the attention like on Kyoshi Island. He’s come a long way since they left the south pole. His summer was fruitful, and the world has indulged in a harvest of joy with the Avatar’s return. But now the long winter is settling in.

“With the coming Ever Night, our reason to celebrate is high!” Arnook continues. As if waiting for the cue, a silver haired young woman placed farther down the table stands. “We also celebrate my daughter's eighteenth birthday. Princess Yue is now of marrying age!”

When the girl speaks, her voice tinkles like freshly fallen snow. “Thank you, Father. May the great Ocean and Moon Spirits watch over us during the Ever Night.”

“What are they talking about?” Aang whispers from her right. Unlike Sokka, he is not as distracted by Yue to lift his cup to the Princess’ toast to winter.

“The Ever Night is a watertribe tradition. In the poles the sun disappears for all of winter. See.” She points to the thin streams bisecting the grand hall, where pale luminescent fish bathe the revellers in silvery moonlike light. “They’re already preparing the starlight koi. They’ll be the main source of light until the skies thaw in spring.”

Aang’s grey eyes track the lazily swimming fish with wonder. “I never visited the poles in winter. Too cold.” He flushes, avoiding her eyes. “Not that I don’t like the cold, just that in summer I could watch the spirits dance and go penguin sledding, which I did with you too. But I’d come with you in winter too, or whenever, but I’d rather come with you. I mean…” He rubs the back of his neck, smiling and shy. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

“It hasn’t started yet,” she teases.

His cheeks are too pale to hide the deep pink hue. “Then thank you for the pre-present.”

It’s considerably smoother than Sokka is with the princess, who’s laughing as her idiot older brother crashes and burns. But Yue favours her idiot brother in the sparse seconds he isn’t fawning over her, fiddles with her braids and keeps from souring her breath with the garlic infused sea snails.

Theirs will be an awkward affair, one she will gleefully watch unfold into an awkward and, if she knows the man her brother is becoming, uncompromisingly adoring romance.

Given how her last dalliance into love ended, romance the last thing she wants to think about. So, she lets the students of master Pakku steal her attention for the rest of the night, practically bouncing in her seat as she thinks of what the next morning will bring for her. Finally, she’ll have more than dusty scrolls and the raspy echoes of metal classroom lessons to bring her closer to her element.

~ ~ ~

“I've waited for this day my whole life. I finally get to learn from a real waterbending master!”

Aang can barely keep up with the bounce in Katara’s step, but she can’t slow down. She’s dreamed of this day since she was a girl of the Southern Ice and, fed up with Sokka’s teasing, froze his bath water around him. As their father chipped the wailing seven-year-old free, mother cried, scooped her into her arms. She said her daughter would be the south’s most powerful bender one day. Katara was too young at the time to realise her mother’s real meaning behind the sorrowful epigraph.

Aang doesn’t realise it either, bounding ahead as they crest the snowy steps to come upon the massive, open ice dais. Pakku dominates the arena, possibly the only waterbender who naturally rises with the sun, peacefully working through his waterbending Kata’s. Peacefully, until Aang makes their presence known the only way he knows how.

“Good morning, Master Pakku!”

The graceful, flowing steps screech to a halt. Pakku’s so jarred he drops the water he was bending, sloshing across his slippers. “No, please, march right in. I'm not concentrating or anything,” he gripes unpleasantly.

Fluent in sarcasm, Katara frowns at the unnecessary bite to the master’s words. It deepens when he catches sight of her. Pale crystal eyes narrow. She hasn’t said anything, how could she have possibly offended him this time?

Not so fluent, Aang bulls cheerily ahead. “This is my friend, Katara. The one I told you about?”

I'm sorry, I think there's been a misunderstanding,” Pakku says without an ounce of apology in his shattered ice voice. “You didn't tell me your friend was a girl. In our tribe, it is forbidden for women to learn waterbending.”

“Excuse me?” Katara barely manages to keep the bite from her words. Since she got here, she’s been catching side eyes and disapproving looks from the man under his smear of a goatee. Underneath it, Pakku sneers. “I didn’t travel halfway across the world so you could tell me no!”

“No.”

His pleasure in aggravating her almost undoes her tenuous hold on her temper. “But there must be other female waterbenders in your tribe?” She won’t say the word girl when he practically spits it at her.

“Here, the women learn from Yugoda to use their waterbending to heal.” He notices her fingers clench and smirks. “I'm sure she would be happy to take you as her student, despite your bad attitude.”

Aang saves her from taking an icicle to Pakku’s smug, turned up nose, even if it wasn’t his intention. No matter what, he must learn to waterbend, even at the cost of Katara’s own fulfilment. She isn’t so selfish as to put herself above Aang, above bringing the war to an end. Lot’s of people go their whole lives without reaching their dreams. So, with a heavy heart, she drags herself to Yugoda’s healing hut.

~ ~ ~

She gets nothing from the lesson. The hut of young girls don’t know any better than to drink in Yugoda’s teachings. It breaks Katara’s heart to see all the potential wasted. No, she shouldn’t think like that. Healing is as noble as fighting. Jeong Jeong taught her to respect everything her element could offer, to never seek destruction.

But she really wanted to expand her knowledge, and to show some Fire Nation scourges why they never should have messed with the Southern Watertribe. She can’t help that she feels its her duty to show the world what the south could bring to this war. But, apparently, it’s not her place.

Not her place up here, anyway. Once Aang learns and they can be on their way, she’ll find a way to catch up.

Now, she feels like she needs to make up for all her moping, so she approaches Yugoda as the rest of the girls file out. “Thanks for the lesson. I only just found out I could heal. This really helped speed up my understanding of it.”

It feels as insincere as it sounds. Luckily, Yugoda gets distracted. “Oh, who’s the lucky boy?”

Katara blinks, before realising the woman is paying special attention to her neck. “Excuse me?” She seems to be saying that a lot today. These Northern Water tribespeople are cooky and not particularly good at getting their point across the first time.

“Your betrothal necklace. You're getting married, right?” Yugoda paces around her, fingers pinching the air either side of her neck. “Whoever puts the necklace on you, he is your betrothed.”

Katara’s jaw drops so fast she’s surprised it doesn’t cover the necklace. “Ah... No. I don't think I'm ready for that yet.”

A self-satisfied slash of a smile appears in her peripheral vision. The memory rises against her will, a scarred cheek so close she can smell Zuko’s woodsmoke scent as he pulls back to hold her necklace in front of her the way Yugoda mimes now. If the elderly healer knew a Fire Nation prince was the one to give it back, she’d probably faint.

“My grandmother gave my mother this necklace and my mother passed it down to me. Not once was I, uh, presented with it.” Katara might have put a bit too much emphasis on that last part.

Luckily, Yugoda’s finicky nature distracts her once again as she cups the glass bead in her wrinkled hands. “I recognize this carving! I don't know why I didn't realize sooner; you're the spitting image of Kanna!”

Zuko is abruptly shoved from Katara’s mind. “Wait, how do you know my Gran-Gran’s name?”

Yugoda smiles up at Katara as if she’s seeing someone else. “When I was about your age, I was friends with Kanna. She was born here in the Northern Tribe.”

“She never told me.” Katara’s finger traces the bead, a bead that must have travelled thousands of miles. And back again.

Yugoda’s voice takes on a frailer affectation. “Your grandmother had an arranged marriage with a young waterbender. He carved that necklace for her.”

“If Gran-Gran was engaged, why did she leave?”

“I don't know. That's always been a mystery to me.” Head bowing, Yugoda shuffles over to begin clearing away the healing dummy. A sniffle escapes her before she can stop it. “She left without saying goodbye.”

~ ~ ~

She’s so distracted by what in her Gran-Gran’s life lead her to flee her home she doesn’t realise she should have questioned her sanity when Sokka suggested a ‘good idea’ before it’s too late. Master Pakku doesn’t just catch them, he disowns Aang as a pupil and, if they don’t fight for their right to stay, will have them banished from the Northern Watertribe come morning.

Luckily, Aang is the conflict resolution master and not her, and politely asks Arnook if Pakku will agree to a meeting in the morning. It starts about as well as she hoped and doesn’t improve.

“You have disrespected me, my teachings, and my entire culture,” Pakku sniffs from his high seat atop a long, frozen dais.

Katara bites off her reply about it not being that terrible a loss. Beside her, Aang bows in correct watertribe custom, keeping his head lowered so he addresses Pakku’s folded legs in the correct show of subservience. “I am so sorry, Master. I should have been honoured, but instead I spurned your generosity.”

“I break the traditions of our people and share Northern waterbending technique with an Air Nomad, and what do you do but go running off to share it with a Southerner. It’s an insult I cannot abide.” Aang lifts his head in confusion before quickly remembering to keep it bowed. But he couldn’t have missed the disdain for which Pakku stares at Katara. To true outsides, maybe Katara could understand. He’s old enough to have heard the horrors of what happened to the Southern Watertribe. But this… this prejudice against her is starting to border on ludicrous.

What happened to make the master waterbender hate women, hate the Southern Watertribe, so vehemently? 

“What do you want me to do? Force Master Pakku to take Aang back as his student?” Arnook is equal parts confused and appropriately offended on behalf of his greatest bender. Doubtful he even knew women could be waterbenders outside of healing until this morning.

“Yes, please,” Katara tacks on, doing her best to look appropriately apologetic in front of Pakku.

Arnook looks between the prostrate girl and his waterbending master. “I suspect he might change his mind if you swallow your pride and apologize to him.”

She’d rather bite off her own tongue and spit it at him. Instead, she grits out a restrained, “Fine.”

In the moment she takes to gather herself, Pakku sneers out an impatient, “I’m waiting, little girl.”

She can take being mocked for wanting to fight. She can take swallowing her pride to better Aang’s bending. She can take so much more than this smear of a man can throw at her and thinks it gets to her.

And then Pakku’s cracked ice of a voice chuckles. “Of course, she doesn’t know the meaning of deference. I doubt she’s ever had the discipline of a proper man in her southern life.”

Sokka’s gasp chokes in his throat. Beside him, Aang’s brows furrow together.

Silent and slow as the glacier, Katara’s gaze lifts to meet Pakku’s. “What did you say?”

If her venom surprises the old man, he doesn’t show it past a lofty grey eyebrow going up. “You see how she speaks to me, Arnook? I swear it’s that southern communalism. Raised by the tribe instead of a firm male figure, indeed. Look what it breeds. It’s disgusting.”

In her peripheral vision, Sokka grabs Aang’s arm and takes a purposeful step back. Out of the danger zone.

Katara’s voice may crackle like thin ice cracking under the overconfident steps of this presumptuous twit of a man, but she feels only cold. “You have a problem with the way my tribe raised me?”

Pakku opens his mouth, but Katara’s rage ignites before he’s finished his smug intake of breath.

“When my mother was murdered, the women of my tribe took me in. And not only the women. I was not left to wander the ice. My _community_ raised me. My _community_ gave me everything I hold dear. I was lucky to know many mothers. Many fathers. Many sisters and brothers. You see, _Master_ ,” she mocks the word and feels satisfaction when it lands. Pakku’s lip curls upward in a sneer. “I knew many role models, many male figures. Not one of them could bend, yet all were more of a man then you will ever be in the pitiful time you have left before Tui drags you to the bottom of her depths.”

“Is that a threat, girl?” Pakku spits.

“A promise. A prophecy. It might not be me, though believe me I am close, but one day a woman of this tribe is going to have enough of your backwards, oppressive traditions. And I guarantee, she won’t be alone.”

“You think you can intimidate me? You’re a little girl.”

Katara squares her shoulders and for the first time in months, in her life she realises, proudly announces her claim. Not a claim to her bending. She was born with that. But the claim she scraped her way through tunnels, snow banks, and out the belly of a metal Fire Nation prison to earn. “I am the Ice Carver… The Icediver of the Southern Watertribe!”

Disgust twists Pakku’s face. “They let their women Icedive in the south?”

Farther down the council seats, Yue stops pretending this embarrassment isn’t happening. No longer does she wither. No longer does she sneak her glances at this sideshow. Now, Katara has her uncompromising, rapt attention.

Her father notices as well and clears his throat. “Young lady, this is highly irregular.”

“With all do respect, Chief Arnook, this does not concern you.” Pakku’s declaration is cold. Yue feels his chill, and slumps back in her seat. No. She can’t give up. Not just when Katara’s getting through. As if feeling the tide, shifting against him, Pakku turns his decrepit head to the corner of the room. “You there, warrior of the south.”

Sokka straightens when all the eyes of the room turn to him. “Yes, sir?”

Pakku smiles. “Ah, it is good to see discipline was not totally wiped out in your tribe, unlike most of your customs it seems.” He shoots a pointed glare at Katara. “Would you allow such impertinence in your ranks?”

Katara looks desperately over to her brother. He can’t have forgotten Suki already. He must remember the fierceness of the women, even with Yue’s huge, crystalline eyes imploring him over her father’s shoulder.

Sokka meets them, glances nervously around at the men of the room. Her heart sinks. He won’t sacrifice his standing. Here he’s ‘prince’ Sokka. He has a standing, a chance with a beautiful woman whose father will respect a strong man with strong beliefs in his-

“I grew up surrounded by the men of my tribe,” Sokka starts in a firm, if slightly timid, voice. “I trained the boys to take their places when they went off to war. I, regretfully, was too young…”

Here it comes. Katara braces herself.

“But if even one of those boys displays half the courage, fortitude, and strength of will my sister, my friends across this world I have travelled, continues to amaze me with, I can rest easy knowing my tribe is safe in my absence.”

Katara stares at her brother, and she’s not the only one. Yue’s eyes behold him, wonderous, enthralled by the conviction with which he openly defies her people’s customs. Not with defilement or degradation to their oppressive ways. He gives his respect equally, fairly, and to everyone.

Pakku sours, dismissing her brother with an indifferent wave of his hand. “Strength of will and strength of body is a difference I would have thought a warrior would know. Though I suppose you’re more a warrior in theory than execution.”

Sokka’s moment in the sun extinguishes under the cruel dismissal of his accomplishments. He kept his tribe safe, but Pakku’s only interested in proving his point, shattering through Sokka’s will to make sure it lands.

“That is an unfair claim, master.” Twinkling as always, Yue is soft spoken yet heard by everyone in the chamber. Especially Sokka, who she favours with a kind smile. “I, for one, think our sisters to the South are fortunate to have a warrior such as Sokka usher in their next wave of protec-”

“I will hear your opinion when I ask for it,” Pakku snaps, practically taking the princesses head off with it.

“Hey!” Sokka takes step towards the dais, and only Yue waving him back as she meets the masters eye stays the hand reaching back for his boomerang.

“If the south needs their women to help fight and their women waterbenders to Icedive, no wonder they were so easily exterminated. Your disrespect for tradition murdered your tribe, just like it murdered my Ka-” He cuts himself off, gritting his teeth in a moment of genuine, startling anguish. Katara’s storm almost calms in the wake of Pakku’s despair, until the man freezes her compassion and stomps it to splinters under his old boot heel. “A hot tempered, impetuous wench like you is no better than the erratic Firebending scum which desecrate this world. You’re a disgrace to your bending.”

“I am the only waterbender of the south!” Katara fingers clench. The pots either side of the council dais spiderweb with cracks and shatter. When she points at Pakku, the old man’s flinch is involuntary and just the spark she needs. “I’ll meet you under the ice, beneath Tui and La, or outside. If you’re man enough to face me.”

~ ~ ~

She won’t win. She doesn’t need Sokka to remind her. Or call her crazy. “I don’t care.” Descending the steps with purpose, she strips off her parka.

“You don’t have to do this for me. I can find another teacher,” Aang begs, because even when she’s in the right, the monk cannot stand a fight if words can fix the situation.

And that’s where he’s wrong. “I'm not doing it for you! Someone needs to slap some sense into that guy!”

Pakku descends the steps behind them and before the crowd gathered at the zenith. But he doesn’t stop at the bottom, walking past Katara without even sparing her a glance.

“Aren't you going to fight?”

“Go back to the healing huts with the other women where you belong.” Pakku waves a hand to punctuate the dismissal. She whips the back with a shred of water before he finishes lowering. He gasps, cradling his hand where a red welt begins to rise on his dark skin.

“Might need someone to take a look at that.” Water curls and slithers between her fingers, all with the intent to cause damage instead of healing it.

Pakku’s pinched, condescending face narrows into a look of pure loathing. “Fine. You want to learn to fight so bad? Study closely!”

Streams of water burst from the nearby pools. Directing them both towards her, Katara falls back on instinct. Pakku presses, joining the streams together, encircling them in a forceful ring instead of hitting her head on. “You’d think I’d hurt a defenceless child?”

That’s almost his biggest insult. Charged with rage, Katara sweeps his water ring away. Sokka’s cry from behind cannot break her focus as she charges Pakku’s ice wall, sliding up before leaping back, landing atop the nearby post to stare down at the momentarily disoriented master. Those seconds save her. Two moves ahead in the battle, she sets her feet as Pakku melts his walls, directing the full blast of stinging cold water at her.

And she takes it. “You can’t knock me down!”

Pakku blinks at the ice bolting her from ankle to knee to the pedestal. Waterbenders flow and move with their element. They do not lock themselves down. He can’t fathom it. Can’t guess where she’s going to go next when she’s robbed herself of her element’s biggest strength.

She bears down on that surprise by shifting his paradigm a third time, throwing up a flimsy wall of water that brings Pakku back to what he knows. He freezes it, cries out as Katara melts it in the same instant and leaps through the swell to strike physically with her fists. He’s old. She’s a woman. She’d say it’s a fair match up. But he’s unfortunately fast as well, ducking them all before whipping up her forgotten puddle and throwing her into a nearby pool.

He resists her attempts to drag their element out of the frozen wasteland of Northern Tradition. So, she’ll take that water and drown him in his stubborn ways.

Willing the water into a waist high pillar of ice, she slices a barrage of deadly missiles right for Pakku’s head. He breaks the first, second, slips the third when it comes too fast, and she aims the fourth with deadly intent. He’s able to swerve just as it slices the air in front of his face, shearing the tip off his right, lank moustache tip.

When he frowns it lifts the left comically high, made even better when he notices and lifts it higher when he sneers.

His counter is brutal. The blast of water is chilling and unrelenting. Water forces its way down her throat, up her nose. Wind howls in her memory. The ice beneath her feet takes on a strange, metal aspect until he she can get her breathing back under control. She banishes the memory of the ship deck before it can consume her. Rage takes its place. She will not be made afraid again.

Snow bursts up from the ground around Pakku, two towering pillars bearing down on the master. But rage is not what the element of water knows, and Pakku turns the snow to mist.

“Well, I’m impressed,” he concedes, if not begrudgingly. “You are an excellent waterbender.”

She’s under no hopeful illusions. “But you still won’t teach me, will you?”

He’s the one in control as Katara pants. “No.”

She snaps a wave towards Pakku. An effortless rise upon an ice pillar sweeps him high above her. She’s momentarily caught off guard and he uses it, liquifying the pillar, charging straight towards her now. Seems an old Polarbear Dog can learn new tricks, and she reacts on instinct with the most powerful stream of water her tired, battered body can conjure. Not powerful enough. Pakku freezes her stream mid-attack, then doubles his assault, sliding down the thin stream to land a heavy retaliating strike.

Her knees fail her. She can’t see Pakku anymore, but before she can struggle back onto her feet, daggers of ice stab into the ground around her. As long as her body, thick as her legs. The slide deftly between her arms and legs, in front of her shoulder and behind her thigh. Across her chest. Strapped to her back. Locking her in place.

“This fight… is over,” Pakku does his best to show how little the fight affected him. His lopsided moustache ruins the façade.

Katara thrashes. She may be locked down, but her rage still burns. “Come back here! I’m not finished yet!”

“Yes, you are.” Pakku turns all his disdain on her. He’s beaten her, now he twists the knife just for the pleasure of it. “I took one look at you and knew your lack of respect and knowledge for your element would be your weakness. Know what it means to embrace the torrent instead of your petty, hurt feelings.”

His foot shifts the snow their battle disturbed, unearthing a dark blue anomaly which catches the pale, sparkling sun. Pakku notices and, to Katara’s unending fury, bends to pick up her necklace. “Don’t touch that!”

He doesn’t seem to hear her, staring dumbly at the bead he holds between the torn ribbon. “My necklace…”

“No, it’s not! It’s mine!” She thrashes all over again against her bonds. “Give it back!”

She’s ready to scream herself hoarse, until a tortured, quiet sob wrenches from Pakku’s throat. Before her stunned eyes, the ice-cold master cradles her necklace to his chest as he crumples in on himself. “I carved this sixty years ago for the love of my life… for Kanna.”

“You?” Shock obliterates her hate. It was growing impossible to hold onto as the wretched man cries, uncaring of the crowd, of the sudden pity from his adversary.

And, in letting go, something in her soul opens. She feels the push of the ice against her and pulls back with her bending. The ice locking her in place melts on the spot and, carefully, wary of Pakku, she approaches. “My Gran-Gran was supposed to marry you?”

The stubby tip of Pakku’s moustache quibbles with his sobs. His icy eyes take her in, and she’s sure she doesn’t look much better than him. Her hairs been knocked from its braids. Her skin stings in places from his relentless barrage of water, eyes no doubt red and blotchy. But she’s imploring and curious, and this man, onerous and haughty though he is, is above all else, a teacher.

“I carved this necklace for your grandmother when we got engaged. I thought we would have a long, happy life together… I loved her.”

“But she didn't love you, did she?” Katara guesses, and Pakku flinches. “It was an arranged marriage. Gran-Gran wouldn't let your tribe's stupid customs run her life. That's why she left. It must have taken a lot of courage.”

The master’s eyes turn rancid. “Courage? Is that what you call it? I call it selfishness!” His fist tightens around the necklace. For a moment Katara fears his grip might shatter the bead. “I offer her my life, my love, and she chooses to run straight into the Fire Nation’s Southern Massacre! She left a life with me to die!”

The instinct to rush to her grandmother’s defence burns hot. Her mouth is open, ready to render this vile man to cinders. But his rage is shrivelling back in on itself before her eyes, enough remaining to rise to her next stand. And they’ll keep going, back and forth. Push and Pull. No winner, no loser. Only two hurt waterbenders.

So, when he pushes, Katara embraces Pakku’s torrent, pulls it towards her, and extends her hand for her necklace.

She’s been so blinded by her frustration, by her dream shattering around her, to see it sooner. It’s in his unrelenting prejudice to the south, and now his hesitation to give her necklace back, to relinquish the last part of the Southern Watertribe, of the women who ran towards death rather than be with him. A woman who’s spitting image stands before him now with her hand open, and he still holds onto his last shred of hate.

“Kanna survived the raids.”

Pakku’s broken eyes snap wide, then narrow warily. Afraid she’ll hurt him, as if Katara could. “Wh-what?”

“My Gran-Gran is alive and well in the South as we speak. The Fire Nation failed to exterminate the tribe. Sokka and I are proof of that.”

Pakku searches her face for hint of a lie. “I couldn’t let myself hope… She’s alive?” At her nod, he looks down at the necklace in his palm one last time, before placing the glass bead back in her hand.

He looks back up and, for the first time since Katara came to the North, smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty please let me know your thoughts and feedback because I would love to know if I’m doing a good job!! It only takes a second and it would be greatly appreciated!! Reading all your wonderful comments keeps me writing as I plough on for Book Two.
> 
> Not going to lie guys, this one probably tested me the most. It's the one where I probably stick closest to the episode, which is boring for me because you guys know I thrive when I get to do my own original stuff. I’ve got my own canon sprinkled in, and it's Katara being her most badass. I was legally obliged as an Avatar lover to write it XD 
> 
> Kudos always welcome, likes, dislikes, comments and complaints. Let me know what you guys think because I love reading them and finding out about you guys!


	15. The Siege of the North - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the Penultimate Chapter!
> 
> To all my readers, you guys have been amazing! So amazing! And, if anyone has any fan art, I’d love to see it, obsess over it, then - if I can figure out how - post it with the final chapter!
> 
> As always, you guys are amazing! I can't put into words how much I love to hear from all my readers!! It really motivates me to keep going, keeps me motivated and keeps me writing this fic!
> 
> Everyone who reads this, all my lovely Kudos giving superstars, please let me know what you thought of this chapter! Knowing I’ve done a good job means the world to me and keeps me pressing on into Book Two!!!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Sangok trembles before Katara, and so he should. The string of boys she’s left snow blasted, frozen to the ground, or shivering where they stand are testament to her sparring skills. By the time she makes it to Sangok she’s bored. Time to mix things up.

When Sangok shakily summons his snow and throws it, she’s quick to catch it, melt it, let the momentum spin her in the snow, and bend a wave of water that swoops under Sangok and sweeps him into the air. She freezes it with a wave of her hand, suspending Sangok in an icy trap. She waves prettily up at him, and his blush alone almost melts through her trap.

“Nice try, pupil Sangok,” Pakku’s displeased voice slices the fresh, morning air. He goes on, leaving Sangok to struggle in the ice above the rest of his pupil’s heads. “A couple of more years and you might be ready to fight a sea sponge.” A wave of his hand dispels the ice, dropping Sangok into a flurry of snow. “Would anyone care for a rematch with Katara?”

Some of the boys actually try to disappear into the evaporating snow vapour Sangok’s fall kicked up. The others pretend not to have heard their teacher.

Pakku hums in amusement, turning back to his star pupil. “Katara, you’ve advanced far more quickly than any student I’ve ever trained. You have proven that with fierce determination, passion and hard work, you can accomplish anything.” Their shared moment evaporates with a happy chortle off to the side. Pakku turns, effortlessly resuming his displeased disposition. “Raw talent alone is not enough. Pupil Aang!”

Aang freezes, dropping the airball and the floating Momo onto his head. “Yes, Master Pakku?”

“Care to step into the sparring circle?” The Master’s sarcasm could cut the ice. “I figure since you've found time to play with house pets, you must have already mastered waterbending.”

Katara knows before Aang even opens his mouth that the point has gone right over his smooth head. “I wouldn't say mastered but check this out!”

He twists, effortlessly bending the snow around him to form a snowman of himself, arrow and all. While Katara isn’t impressed, Momo can’t seem to tell which is which, diving onto the snowman until it’s nothing but a snow corpse.

Wisely, Pakku chooses to end the lesson there. For the other students.

While the boys and Aang disband, Katara begins the real training. If she thought Pakku was strict before he let her into his lessons, his one-on-one teachings are as severe as the glacier peaks. Slowly at first then in a flood of drills, meditations, and circuits, Katara’s bending refines, her reflexes sharpen.

He begins advising she take in more proteins to aid her sore muscles. Her body quakes in the night, hungry for motion under the glowing moon. But if Pakku even senses her recovery isn’t sufficient he alters the training to meditations, stretching and focusing on the pushes and pulls of their element.

He sits now on the firm packed ice walls during her warm downs, legs dangling over the edge, cup of tea steaming in his lap. It’s then she likes him most, in the quiet reflective moments that make her think of Iroh.

“I downplayed it in front of the others, you know,” her master mumbles between sips. “You’d already beaten them down, and I am supposed to be their teacher, not destroying the confidence of our future warriors. But you are admirable.”

“Wow, tell me how you really feel,” Katara teases as she hinges at the waist, bringing her arm up and over her head, seeking to release the sweet ache in her back a good day of training builds.

Pakku smiles softly and his eyes find a distant place. The future, where the sun will break the new spring horizon? Or perhaps sixty years in the past when he was young, in love, and had no idea the heartache awaiting him. “I never could have predicted how strong you’d become. When I was your age the idea of a woman warrior was...”

“We really don’t need to get into that,” Katara hedges. Pakku’s made progress, which largely stems from her progress, but he slips sometimes back into old ways she grits her teeth and brunt’s.

“I’d have laughed then as I laughed two weeks ago,” Pakku presses. He’s not forceful, and when Katara realises it’s not about her she lets him fall into his reflections. “It may seem pig-headed to you, Katara, but there was a method to my madness beyond blindly sticking to tradition. The world was at war, but the war hadn’t touched us. It hadn’t touched the south. Yes, we’d heard what happened to the Air Nomads, but Sozin was dead. We thought the threat with him. Northern warriors weren’t the necessity they are now. They were hazard precautions. Formalities. My life was going to be one of protection and love.

“Then Kanna fled for the south and… and then the raids. I spent my shattered youth protecting our borders before we realised branching them out was our best defence. We built further walls, cut ourselves off from the rest of the world, and I trained boys to die on walls away from their homes. No peace to it. No end to the madness.”

He hasn’t realised she’s stopped stretching. “Why do they make it so horrible?” She asks as she plops herself down onto the wall beside him. “Life. All this. Why do they need to make us do this? Why do they treat us like we’re pieces on a board?”

“And then set the board on fire?” Pakku asks derisively. He doesn’t need to ask who she’s talking about. “Power.”

“Power isn’t real. It’s just a word.”

Pakku ponders silently. Then he shrugs his thin shoulders. “Mankind was always in competition, they’ll say. First with the elements. Then the animals. At last, with each other. Harmony enslaves us to slothfulness, naivety. They’d say we’d stand still; the progression of humanity would die. Take that harmony away, and they give me a life fulfilled by training. They gave you a life of sacrifice, family, community. Competition. And while we bicker, their society is stable.”

“Stable?” Katara shakes her head. “They tried to obliterate my tribe. Aang is the last of his people. Earthbenders supress their powers or are conscripted to fight in a war they didn’t start.”

“None of us started it,” Pakku amends, “but we all have to fight, in our own ways. The Northern Watertribe is strong, yes, but only because we seclude ourselves up here away from it all. Does that make us any better in this war?”

Katara doesn’t want to say what she’s really thinking. She’s one girl on a mission with all but one of the most important people in her life. Pakku’s the forge-master, creating blades to shatter in an unending war.

Instead, she bows her head. “It is better not to make war.”

Pakku’s teaching style is to break young ego’s down then build warriors upon the foundation. There’s no room for comfort in his questionable, but successful technique. So, when he awkwardly lays his hand on her shoulder, she smiles to save him struggling up something to say.

Her smile fades into an expression of horror, a horror Pakku has been lucky enough never to experience before this moment.

Before the first black snow of his life falls upon the North.

~ ~ ~

Vision periscoping in and out of the present. _Her mother, smiling_. Clear sky. _Red metal armour. Her village’s flat, tundra plains._ Icy steps rushing beneath her feet. The Northern town hall appearing. Black snow. _Her mother, dying. Hands too small to be hers clutch the fur lining to their family home._ Drums pounding across the platformed switchback walls of the Watertribe palace. Aang tugging her along. Pakku’s severe face stricken with worry as he ascends the meeting dais with Arnook. _Her mother’s body._

Katara slams back into the present as a body slams into her back. The Northern watertribe hall is jam packed with people and voices. Questions batter Arnook and his advisors. The drums beat outside, even though everyone must already be in the hall, desperate to find out what’s going on. Except they all know.

The Fire Nation is coming.

Yet, right up to the last second, right up to Arnook facing the gathered crowd, opens his mouth, and delivers the news, they hope. Until it shatters. “The day we have feared for so long has arrived. The Fire Nation is on our doorstep. It is with great sadness I call my family here before me, knowing well that some of these faces are about to vanish from our tribe.”

Only after hours spent training under the gruelling master can Katara interpret the twitching wince Pakku suppresses as he stands beside Yue. On his other side, an older boy waits stoically.

“But they will never vanish from our hearts,” Arnook soldiers on. “Now, as we approach the battle for our existence, I call upon the great spirits. Spirit of the Ocean! Spirit of the Moon! Be with us!”

Be with us, Katara echoes from the depths of her soul.

Arnook’s sigh weighs mountains. “I'm going to need volunteers for a dangerous mission.”

Without waiting to hear what the mission entails, her brother shoots up from his seat beside her. “I volunteer.”

Her heart breaks. “Sokka...”

He pulls his arm away when she tries to reach for him. Face painted with determination, Sokka leads a procession of sorrowful young men to the dais. The boy beside Yue moves deliberately in front of him so he can be the first recipient of Arnook’s ceremonial mark. If he’d bothered to pay attention, he’d see how little energy Sokka wastes on him. His eyes are only for Yue.

“Be warned, many of you will not return.” Arnook’s sorrow is so great it’s a surprise he can lift his arm to bestow the marks.

Yue sees her father’s struggle. She straightens. “But those who do will be heroes. Those who don’t will be our saviours, and the fathers of a new beginning.”

Sokka isn’t sure if Yue is talking only to him until she turns to face the crowd. Already sombre, none know how to respond to the usually quiet Princess. Even her father watches quietly as she stands and walks to the edge of the dais.

“We broke from the rest of the world when this war began, and in doing so we abandoned our brothers and sisters to the south.” Murmurs of discontent threaten to drown Yue before she can really begin. So, she waits for them to pass. When they do, she holds her hands out to encompass her people. “On the ice, when a limb is sick, you cut it away to save the body. We thought this world already on its way to rot from the inside with Fire Nation greed. Earth Kingdom stubbornness. Watertribe segregation. In our small lives up here at the crown of the world we thought there was none left to tell us otherwise. There is no shame in being told we were wrong.”

She sweeps a graceful arm to where Aang and Katara watch amongst the crowd. As if she’d waterbent a current, the people around them ripple back. “Avatar Aang returns, and with him he brings two warriors whose bravery I can not do the disservice of trying to commend with words alone.”

It’s not only Sokka who glows with pride at Yue’s words. It slams into Katara in that moment that the first person to call her a warrior is the placid princess, and she couldn’t be happier.

“My people, we do not know war. We do not know raids, know black snow, know the pain of having our mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers ripped right out of our hands. Not in the way these southern heroes do. They came here to reveal to us truth, because they have lived that truth. They know war, we know how to protect ourselves.” Yue’s expression hardens. “No longer. Isolation, folklore, seclusion, will not become all we know. Six decades, the world begs for the Northern Watertribes help. And we hide. We abstain. We abandon.”

She lets that hang in the air for a long moment.

“Forgotten by the rest of the world, we were content to stay stuck in our ways. Now the Avatar and our Sisters of the South have come, and they teach us a new word: Provide. And with that word we embrace the truth the Avatar heralds: Destiny is not given. Destiny is taken.”

Zuko would melt this palace to the ground if he heard Yue. Katara could happily be frozen to this moment in time forever as Yue reaches for her people.

“Our world as we know it is past. Divided we were safe but united our tribes will always be strong. It is time to provide strength to the rest of the world. It is time we stop dividing ourselves into Southern and Northern watertribe. We are of the north or south, but from this day, we who live will be the survivors of the new Onetribe.”

And before the eyes of all her people, before the master waterbender, before her father the chief, Princess Yue, founder of Onetribe, is the first to bow before two Southern peasants and the Avatar.

“To the Onetribe,” Aang murmurs, respecting Yue’s soft tone, and bows back.

As the members of Onetribe bow to each other, to Katara, to the brave young men about to go to war, only Katara sees Yue’s silent tears as she straightens. She lets her own quietly join the Princess in sorrow as she watches her people be born again, and another family member walk towards death.

~ ~ ~

Aang is all she has left, and she finds him talking with Arnook on the steps of the chief’s palace after the meeting. They won’t let her see Sokka. The men need to prep, free of distraction, even if all she wants to do is throw her arms around her brother’s shoulders for what could be the last time and tell him she’s so proud of the man he’s becoming.

“The stillness before battle is unbearable. Such a quiet dread,” Arnook whispers as she approaches. He’s so unprepared for this, out of his depth in a tumultuous ocean he’s too used to being still. As if he thought the tides were his whims, only to be hit with an errant wave and realise no one can control the ocean, not even his master waterbender. Not even himself.

Aang isn’t handling it much better. So like the winds, when he’s still Katara knows it means a storm is brewing. “I wasn’t there when the Fire Nation attacked my people.” He stands from his crouch, shadow long atop his snow packed pillar. “I’m going to make a difference this time.”

~ ~ ~

Arnook calls the first battle a skirmish, no more than the Fire Navy flexing, mocking them as they test the waters.

Katara can’t show the others how shaken it’s left her. When that first flaming ball hit the wall, she thought her life had abruptly ended. The last time the world went out from under her like that was when she went over the ship rail in the storm. Only instead of drowning in the ocean, she’s almost crushed by tons of falling snow. Pakku’s lessons and her quick reflexes save her. But when she crests what remains of the wall, her fellow warriors stare in horror at the fleet driving for their front door. A front door which now has a giant, smoking hole in it.

They’re no unit. No band of warriors. They’re defenders. Gate Keepers. They have no idea the ancestry which runs in their cold veins.

But Katara does.

“Enemy iron inbound!” She yells it over and over, running the length of wall, giving the boys something to focus on. Even if they think her snow mad, crazed with fear, they turn to watch her spectacle. “If this were the age of our ancestors we would be under that ice, flooding their ships, spearing them from the inside. In everything but name, we are Icedivers!

“They believe they are coming to take a pole. Are we just going to give it to them?” In reply, fifty terrified feet pound the ice. It beats in time with Katara’s heart. _Boom. Boom._ “Commander Zhao thinks the Northern Wat- The Onetribe is already ash. Are we ash?” _Boom! Boom! Boom!_ “What are we?”

“Water benders!”

Katara’s heart thumps in her chest. “And who are the fiercest waterbenders?”

“ICEDIVERS!” 

The air warps with the thermal plummeting of fifty Waterbenders unleashing the storm. Katara’s spent her life thinking she was the only one who could carry such a burn, but not all rage burns hot.

Waterbenders rise around her. The warriors of the tribe form columns with their spears. At the vanguard atop the wall, Katara turns to face the darkening world.

But she is only a student, a fighter. The waterbenders of Onetribe need their master. “Stop those fireballs!”

Pakku’s students rally to their masters calls of lock, sweep, catch; stopping the fireballs with the ice which they call home, freezing them in mid-air if Aang cannot deflect them away before they reach the walls. Waterbenders flood the ships with water then freeze them, taking them clear of the ice, trapping the soldiers on board in their efforts to lighten Aang's load as he sweeps from ship to ship.

It goes on, and on. Until it doesn't. Twilight breaks as the sun dips, and as if connected by one mind, the Naval ships slip back and drop anchor. Katara, exhausted, strained, bone weary tired she hasn't felt in months, relaxes for the first time in hours and looks around her. Smoke billows from the battle-worn city in several spots where she and the other waterbenders failed to protect it.

Yue stands amongst them, silver hair a beacon between the black smoke that Katara staggers towards. When she reaches the Princess, her eyes don't leave the destruction on the horizon. "They've stopped firing."

All but one. A dark shape sails towards the city. Katara braces for the attack. It's heading straight for Yue. Until the sun finally dips, bringing the shadow, and his rider, into the waning light. "Aang!"

He's falling to the floor before Appa's finished landing, the dutiful sky bison cushioning his fall with his long, fluffy tail. On the ground, Aang slumps. "I can't do it.... I can't do it."

"What happened?" Katara asks, already assessing him for damage.

He's barely aware she's there. "I must have taken out a dozen Fire Navy ships, but there's just too many of them. I can't fight them all."

The mother of Onetribe kneels before the young boy. "But you have to. You're the Avatar."

She was impressive before her people, but Katara resents how much she's asking of Aang.

"I'm just one kid." It rends something inside of Aang to admit that, and he buries his face back in his folded arms. Yue appropriately backs off as Katara kneels beside her friend.

~ ~ ~

Yue offers Aang her private chambers to rest. From just the peak Katara got in the doorway, she knows his sleep would have been luxurious if the fate of the North didn't rest on his young lithe shoulders. Still a little sore with Yue, Katara goes to help mend the defences with her teacher.

Pakku reminds her of how important recovery is, but this time she doesn't have to pay attention.

Only when the almost full moon waxes above her does she finally stop and see if Aang is awake. He is, and with Yue, on the balcony outside her chambers. No hard feelings permeate their quiet conversation, so Katara does her best to dismiss hers as she joins them.

Aang smiles and takes her hand before she can fuss. He doesn't let go when he places them down on the wall, seeking her strength. She has no idea how she has any left, but she'd gladly give it to him if only to give him some of his usual strength of will back.

"Legend says the moon was the first waterbender," Yue murmurs, and something in her voice makes Katara pay attention. "Our ancestors saw how it pushed and pulled the tides and learned how to do it themselves."

It's as if she read Katara's mind. "I've always noticed my waterbending is stronger at night." Not just that, she thinks, squeezing Aang's thin fingers.

Yue smiles. "Our strength comes from the spirit of the moon. Our life comes from the spirit of the ocean. They work together to keep balance."

Them, or when they’re unavailable, a moody firebender brings you soothing tea, food, and extra blankets when the lamps get too bright. Not for the first time, Katara wonders if Zuko is on one of those ships. Looking at the moon. Does he think about her when he does, like how she irrevocably can't help but think of him when she feels the sun on her neck.

"The spirits!" Aang cries suddenly, obliterating her quiet contemplation. "Maybe I can find them and get their help!"

~ ~ ~

The most spiritual place in the Northern Pole takes Katara’s breath away. The modest garden has the only grass for miles, it’s earthy scent fresh, rugged where snow is crisp, like evergreen pines on solstice mornings. A fresh spring is fed by a calm torrent of water flowing over the top of the glacier walls which surround the garden, almost as if coming from nowhere. Water glows like liquid moonbeams, the spray light and refreshing on Katara’s skin after hours of battle.

Until she realises, to her amazement, she’s started to sweat again. “It’s so warm in here,” she breaths as Aang sprints ahead to roll in the grass. Her breath doesn’t even steam up, and she strips off her heavy parka.

Yue joins her. “It's the centre of all spiritual energy in our land.”

Momo scampers ahead to join Aang, but his attention is caught by something in the water. His sticky, agile lemur fingers try and fail to catch one of the two koi fish, one black with a white spot on its head, one white with a black spot, circling each other in the still lake. He gives up, scampering away before Katara can chase him off.

Aang stops his rolling, sitting up to look over at the princess. “You're right, Yue. I can feel ... something. It's so tranquil.” He swings his legs around in the way only airbenders can, sitting in lotus, bowing his head under the silent waterfall.

Katara settles herself by the edge of the pool and waits.

Yue joins her. Slim dark fingers begin to play with stems, twisting, testing the tensile strength of the grass, but never tearing or ripping it from the ground. Despite having access anytime she could want, Katara can tell the Princess respects this place too much to use it as her playground.

“I wish I could do what you do.”

It’s never hard to hear Yue’s soft voice, even if a hundred people are shouting over her. But Katara barely hears the words right next to her ear. When she turns, Yue doesn’t look up from the ground.

“You’re a stronger woman than I’ve any right to know, yet you call me Princess. I could have gone my whole life without ever seeing someone like you waterbend, inspire, and face a charge of Fire Nation ships without flinching.”

If only she knew how terrified Katara had been. “Yue, just because you’re not a waterbend-”

“You looked our traditions in the eye and told them no.” Yue’s clear, glacier eyes find Katara’s, their hold so gentle, never forceful, as still as the spirit oasis. “You told our oldest beliefs you were worth more. That is strength.”

Yue’s surrounded by warriors, healers, spear masters and waterbenders. Katara feels stupid for ever assuming the Princess cared about her physical limitations. “Strength is taking one’s people by the hand and telling them ‘we can be better’.” She takes Yue’s hand now. “You called Sokka and the other men the fathers of Onetribe, but you are it’s mother. It’s not just an idea that you had in the moment, not with a speech like yours. You’ve carried it, nurtured it, seen your people stagnate up here while knowing the world needs the North’s strength. Nothing takes more strength then to guide a child through its life.”

“I imagined my first child a little differently,” Yue tries to joke, her smile more of a grimace.

Katara knows about the engagement. After catching Sokka’s resentful glances at her necklace, she finally broke him down into telling her what his problem was. “You don’t have to imagine anything you don’t want to. Onetribe is yours, its traditions are yours. Value your people, but value yourself too. You’re a great leader, Yue. You’ll make a greater Queen.”

She’s never seen a Princess blush and adds it to her list of achievements. “The first queen of the Icedivers.”

It’s Katara’s turn to blush. “Spirits, I really said that didn’t I? I’ve never even gone below the ice myself, not like the divers of old at least.” She laughs, but it feels hollow, even when Yue smiles. It’s so easy to see why her brother likes her so much. “I was so scared up there, Yue. I’ve never been in a battle like that, and your dad said it wasn't even a real one. What those ships can do, even with Aang out there. Maybe... maybe Pakku was right to be apprehensive.”

It tears something inside her to admit that, but it also feels somehow better. Freeing. Like hearing it out loud releases the strain she’s been holding in her neck and shoulders. She almost sighs from the sweet ache in her soul.

When she can bare to look at the princess again, she knows it must be a physical thing. “Look at that, she's human.”

They giggle quietly, cautious of disturbing Aang. But Yue gasps when she looks over. Katara's panic is short lived when she sees the bright glow of his tattoos.

"Is he okay?"

"He's crossing into the spirit world.” Katara turns her body to face Aang. “He'll be fine as long as we don't move his body. That's his way back to the physical world."

"Should we get some help?" Yue asks tentatively, never taking her eyes from Aang.

"No, he's my friend. I'm perfectly capable of..."

The stranger watches them from the bridge across the Oasis pool. Hooded, tall. Dressed head to toe in white. She can't even see the eyes through the narrow slits of the snow suit, but she knows they are on her. No waterbender would feel the need to blend in with the snow, and she doubts any earthbender would venture this far north.

Katara moves to stand. "Go get Sokka."

With her own life she might gamble. Not with Aang's.

“Hold,” Katara warns when the stranger tracks Yue’s retreating figure, then returns his gaze to the pool. No, not the pool. The boy sitting oblivious to the world around him. “I said hold.”

The stranger doesn’t, stepping down off the bridge. She watches the grass for scorch marks – In case they get any ideas. Fire Nation don’t discriminate their benders like the watertribes, and in the sexless white suit, Katara has no idea what she might be up against.

It drifts silently across the glade, blank facemask never leaving hers once it realises the Avatar won’t move. “Stop moving!” She commands. Buy time if she can. Escalate if she can’t. Try to catch it off guard. “I said stop!”

It keeps coming, certain as a glacier.

Katara’s been in enough battles by now to hear one gathering it’s breath.

The stranger knows the sound too, skirting around Aang, knowing who the immediate threat is. But it stops barely a meter from her, tense. If it’s waiting for her to move, she won’t. If it does, she’ll waste it before it can go two steps. A bone-weary sigh leaves it, then it lunges.

She jumps away, but the sudden jerking motion wasn’t for her. The thing moved backwards, but her reaction was instinctual and deadly wrong. It sprints for Aang, gets within grabbing distance. Katara breaks right, moves around It’s flank where the right-hand sparks to life. The left grips the back of Aang’s collar, and Katara sees red.

The oasis erupts. Air torn to shreds by superheated particles as the Stranger concentrates fire on her. Grass turns to dust. Water freezes and melts into gnarled chunks of earth and mud as the two benders battle with everything they have. They throw them at each other, whip tendrils of flame, waves of water. Anything to keep the other away from the meditating boy at their centre.

Katara’s first wave forces the stranger back, but Its retaliation is swift and deadly. She can’t get close enough to pull Aang to safety, or risk getting burned. She tries once, but the fire whip slaps into the inside of her reaching arm. She leaps back, screaming more from fright than actual pain. As if the fire were doing it’s best not to burn her.

The stranger has no such qualms, pressing the advantage with a furious snarl. She stumbles, victim to their chaos but not their unrelenting fury, and hits them from the side with a wave.

She rushes for Aang, but as she does, she feels a presence to her left. She turns just in time to see the Stranger flying through the air at her, blank mask covering its face, a fire whip arcing down to cut her in two. She brings her own whip up. Fire and water slam together. Vibrations rattle down her arm. She’s slow after a full day of battle and no rest, despite Pakku’s training. And this thing is fast.

She’s pressed back. She tries to flow around the Stranger, but the thing is immovable. No, in fact the opposite. It moves too well, always ducking, stepping to the side. Always finding an escape. And it’s smart, using the churned-up ground, the wooden archway to corner her. She’s being hemmed in, corralled by flashing fire. Her defence doesn’t cave, but it erodes along the edges as she protects her core.

A line of fire parts an inch-deep gash through her shoulder. Stings worse than frostbite. Her cry of pain harmonises with the Stranger’s shout of alarm. She hasn’t got a second to breath, let alone question the sound, when It presses in again. Building a rhythm until her back’s touching the wall. Flash, press, shove. Fire opens up her defences, but it doesn’t touch her skin again. It doesn’t matter, the Stranger’s just saving it’s energy by this point.

The stranger spins flames in its hands, flashing wild and fast. Trying to distract her. No idea escape is not her plan until she fakes left. The Stranger swings backhanded to catch her. She rears back and slips around to Its right. A hand clamps on the back of her neck, but she’s under the arm, hand outstretched towards the pool. Water bursts up in a sheet, driving for them as the Stranger pulls and slams her against the icy wall just as the water slams into their back.

A cage of ice presses the Stranger around Katara. Everything’s frozen except his head. The hand around her neck pricks her skin with cold. Clouds of exertion puff between them. Vision rushes in and out. She’s still standing, thanks to the nearly full moon and her reverse Willow gambit.

Time to see if it paid off, she thinks as she reaches up, pulling the white hood free.

“Zuko.”

The banished prince stares at her. “You’ve learned some new tricks.” He can’t so much as turn his head.

“You haven’t.” Her breath cloaks his pale skin. New bruises colour him like dark purple ponds. He’s got a superficial burn at the corner of his jaw, torn open in their fight. Twin slashes down the opposite cheek. She fights down the urge to ask what happened.

“How did you know it was me?”

“Flow forwards. Never retreat. No opportunity to strike opens if a man allows himself to be pushed backwards,” she recites, as if it’s months ago and they’re on the deck of his ship again. Not tangled together at the crown of the world. “Iroh’s shorter. Zhao’s taller. Only one pupil left.”

“You found a master.” It’s not a question. What waterbending he’d seen of her in the past was far outstripped by the skill which ended up with him sealed to the wall. He almost sounds impressed.

“Picked up a few new tricks.” She’s exhausted, slumped against the wall. Zuko can’t move, but his eyes trace her fatigue, the sweat on her brow, linger on her triumphant lips. Then down to the singed gash on her shoulder. She looks too. “Amongst other things.”

She leans her shoulder, touching the ice encasing his reaching arms. Light slithers down the trickling ice, coating the wound still raw and blistering. Before Zuko’s amazed eyes, the burn evaporates until all that’s left is the rip in her tunic and the water dripping down her skin.

She slips out of his frozen hold before he can pretend to be happy he didn’t hurt her. She won’t fall for it. Her face wasn’t covered. He knew exactly who he was attacking. “You can cool off until Sokka and the other guards come.”

~ ~ ~

He didn't almost drown with nothing but a pack of sealion turtles to mourn him, just to be frozen to this glacier cliff, ten feet from his destiny. But no matter how he thrashes, strains, roars, Zuko can't break free of the ice Katara's trapped him in. Worn out by his own futile struggling, he hangs in the frigid air.

How did she get so strong? There's no ice he can't melt, yet here he hangs. He'd be impressed if he wasn't furious. With her. With this endless wasteland of ice. With the Avatar sitting right behind him. He doesn't care. It all blends into the maelstrom building inside him. Courses through him like a fuse desperate to be lit, but he just can't summon the flames.

Until warmth bathes his hanging head. Frozen to the wall, only able to lift his neck, Zuko's vision constricts as the sun breaks the horizon, flooding his pupils with light. He doesn't need to see.

Breathing deepens. Heat rises through his body, from his guts, up into his lungs.

_Remember your breath of fire, Prince Zuko. It could save your life._

Steam billows from his nose, but Katara cannot see. Smart in the moment to trap him like this. Now it will be her undoing. He snorts heat down his chest. A crack cleaves the ice holding him captive. Just a little more. Another breath.

Katara cries out as the ice holding him explodes. But he's already firing before he lands. The move is risky, his root severed. But she's already turning, whipping water into a protective shield. His fire rips through it, slams into her and takes her clean off her feet. She slams into the spirit gate with a resounding thud.

"You rise with the moon... I rise with the sun," he sneers as he stands back up.

She doesn't, even when he goes to grab the Avatar.

"Katara?" She's motionless on the ground, soot stained, face half buried in the mud. "Shit!"

Forgetting the Avatar, he rushes to her side, turning her over. He knows she's breathing before he checks her pulse, but the soft, steady beat against his fingertips calms the shaking in his hands. Heart calming, he lays her down on her back so she won't inhale the soggy earth, then turns to face his destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty please let me know your thoughts and feedback because I would love to know if I’m doing a good job!! It only takes a second and it would be greatly appreciated!! Reading all your wonderful comments keeps me writing as I plough on for Book Two.
> 
> Kudos always welcome, likes, dislikes, comments and complaints. Let me know what you guys think because I love reading them and finding out about you guys!


	16. The Siege of the North - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all my readers, you guys have been amazing!
> 
> I can't put into words how much I love to hear from all my readers!! It really motivates me to keep going, keeps me motivated and keeps me writing this fic! Thank you to saltykittykat, gimmezutara, Crystal175, lovingThatLemonyGoodness, Theflyinghans, Loverbee, Stratega, sometimesicryalot, gamer20, QuaintGirlofHeart, sarahjh23, Hugzgalore, ambitiousvictory, and all the countless others!
> 
> Everyone who reads this, all my lovely Kudos giving superstars, you have been the force which kept me going. I cannot express enough how much I appreciate all the wonderful support. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you've enjoyed!

Glacier ice shifts and rocks beneath his feet. Echoes of battle howl with the raging winds at his back, battling Zuko through his trek across the Northern wasteland. No matter where he goes, no matter how far from conflict he tries to flee, war dogs his heels like a starving wolf-jackal. Screaming wind sinks its teeth into the spaces between his body and the Avatar’s, trying to rip the unconscious boy from his slumped place on his back.

Zuko plods on, into the wind, daring it with each step to stand in his way.

~ ~ ~

Katara’s open hand strikes the grass hard and insistent, becoming a fist when her rage refuses to ebb. Sokka doesn’t bother to try and stop her, letting this episode burn itself out before he intervenes. Yue watches her without a sound. As usual, her silence speaks volumes.

“He took him!” Katara’s fist strikes and clenches the singed grass. “Right out from under me! Zuko took Aang and I couldn’t do anything!”

Fingers close over her shoulder, too weak to hold on when Katara throws them off. But they come back, gripping without being insistent, until she finally wilts under Yue’s pale sympathetic eyes. They wait until they know they have Katara’s attention, then cast around them. “This doesn’t look like nothing,” Yue whispers of the ruined Oasis.

Katara would feel bad for the desecration if she weren’t so furious. “It wasn’t enough.”

“Enough to push a master firebender to the brink, under an incomplete moon no less.”

Katara looks at the destruction she and Zuko caused. Ruts in the ground, burnt grass, craters in the earth filled with water and her growing, disastrous power. Jeong Jeong thought fire only burned and water only healed. Let him see this and still be so naïve. She stands amidst it now, and Sokka stops his surveying to look over at her.

“Zuko better pray we get Aang back before the moon rises.”

“Never thought I’d fear for that moody ashhole’s life,” Sokka quips, void of his usual humour. He puts his hand on her shoulder. “You did everything you could, Katara, and now we need to do everything we can to get him back.” He squeezes. “Zuko can't have gotten far. We'll find him. Aang's gonna be fine.”

She can’t say the same of Zuko. Not when she gets her hands on him.

~ ~ ~

Wind battles him. The ice beneath his feet caves in and tries swallow him. The cold sinks into his bones and threatens to freeze him. Katara made him feel seen then betrayed him. His father’s war dog raised him then tried to kill him. The Avatar weighs his steps into snow that grips and drags at his legs.

But Zuko knows how to fight. He knows what it means to struggle until each breath feels like it’s trying to choke you. Limbs so heavy with fatigue even thinking of lifting them is too much.

He drags them now, through the deep snows to the black maw of gaping stone. It’s shallow, barely sheltered from the wind, but the only shelter for miles. It’s a draft or death, so Zuko sets about the next fight. It’s the only thing he knows.

~ ~ ~

She’s too angry to be of any real use, so Sokka steers Appa. Through howling winds and punishing snows, her brother puts years of idle time trekking southern tundra to use. Even from the hight Appa soars, Sokka’s eyes don’t flinch as the winds change and blast sleet into their path. She doesn’t know how he spots it, but in a blink of snow blind and stinging air, he’s lowering them to a scar across the land.

Yue waits atop Appa’s saddle as Sokka jumps down and runs full steam to where the ice gives way to open space and deadly black rock. Katara freezes in the saddle when she sees the extent of the damage. Aang’s prone body would smash apart on those rocks before the Avatar state could save him.

Before she can fall into despair, Sokka stands and shakes his head at her.

No bodies. No trail. _Aang… where are you?_

~ ~ ~

Remember the basics. Breathe life where there is none. In. Out. Life. Death. It’s a difference separated by his lungs ability to pull in air, push out flame.

Zuko tries not to dwell on the irony. Hard, but not impossible. But he’s used to fighting everything in his life. His own mind was something he thought mastered long ago, but a splinter of ice forced its way in, undermined years of work, then melted to leave a gaping hole. Life, like many fights, doesn’t pull its punches. In and out. Push and Pull. It’s all the same yet thinking of it as one-way grants spurts of warmth into his cupped, shaking hands. The other rends his heart, stutters his breath before it can keep his fingers from turning blue.

Spirits, he hates blue.

His eyes drift to the unconscious boy against his will. There’s nothing in this wasteland, but he can’t stop. Pinpricks of pain lance the back of his eyes if he tries to resist. Exhaustion? Paranoia?

“I finally have you,” he gives life to one half of the thought. How long until life finds out how much he wants this, needs this, and conspires to take it away. “But I can’t get home because of this blizzard.”

He stands to approach the mouth of his cave, staring out into the mocking storm. As if sensing his presence, it rises, bellows at him. “There's always something. Not that you would understand. You're like my sister. Everything always came easy to her. She's a firebending prodigy, and everyone adores her.”

 _I don’t,_ the storm seems to whisper. _Come, step into me. You’d be shocked how warm you can feel in the snow._

“My father says she was born lucky. He says I was lucky to be born. I don't need luck, though. I don't want it.” He’d spit in the face of the storm, if the spit wouldn’t freeze to his lip. “I've always had to struggle and fight and that's made me strong. It's made me who I am.”

And brought him here. The worlds end, battling until his end rushes up to meet him, because this is the only way life has shown him to be. To survive.

The storm rises. It’s been rising for some time.

~ ~ ~

“Try not to worry.” Yue has to yell to be heard over the screaming winds. “Prince Zuko can’t have gotten far in this weather.”

Katara shakes her head, neck cricking. Spirits it’s so cold, and it’s that ice which creeps through her heart. It’s been freezing over the flame of her rage since she first looked into the yawning depths of the chasm. “I’m not worried they’ll get away in the blizzard. I’m worried they won’t.”

And even as Aang holds onto the last shred of warmth left in her heart, it gives a weak, pulsing ache at the thought of Zuko stiff and frozen. Abandoned or forgotten by all the people he’s ever loved except his uncle and the ice.

“They’re not going to die in this blizzard,” Sokka scoffs. He can’t know where her fears lie, how her hearts treachery baffles even her, yet exists. “If we know anything, it's that Zuko never gives up. They'll survive, and we'll find them.”

He gave up on me, she thinks. The second I stopped being useful to him. A waterbender who couldn’t save her own life or drag the Avatar those last few inches into his trap. He’d rather cut her chains and feed her to the ocean.

And still, every dark clump of rock, every uneven drift in the snow, causes a stutter in her heart she’d be lying if she said was only for Aang.

~ ~ ~

Eyes burning with exhaustion, Zuko stands as the veil descends over the Avatar. The light in his eyes, across the top of his head where the arrow descends into his shirt collar, fades. When they open, they find him easily and without surprise to his location.

“Welcome back.” He’s already planting his root, pulling the fire up from his belly.

“Good to be back.”

He’s blasted back with a gust of sharp air before he can summon his breath. The same breath propels the Avatar’s body back, out into the snows. They cushion his fall but ultimately hinder his worming across the wasteland, slowing him so all Zuko has to do is walk out and snatch him up by his collar.

“That won’t be enough to escape.”

He opens his mouth, and an inhuman bellow blasts the sky. Once the sound would have, did, startle Zuko. Now he knows to look to the sky. He picks out the shaggy beast from the rest of the falling the snow the same instant an exultant “Appa!” bursts from the Avatar’s mouth. It cuts off into a yelp as Zuko tosses him aside, quickly setting his root as the beast lands.

A blue clad figure slides down its flank, dispersing the snow around her with a wave of her hand.

All his mistakes rush into him as she clears her area of attack, piling the snow up around him by default. Or tactic. Why did he ever take her up onto the deck to watch the Fire Nation dancers flex their forms and leap in the style of the Caldera? Why did he ever share with her how he’d bested opponents like Zhao by staying true to his basic forms?

Why did he ever let this girl walk into his heart and hope she wouldn’t leave like all the rest?

Not again. She doesn’t get to kick the door in and rob him of his destiny. He roars, letting loose a barrage of flame to melt the snow she piles up. Let her see the consequences of turning turn her back on wildfire.

“Here for a rematch?”

~ ~ ~

His arrogance astounds her. Everything is owed him, him and his precious destiny. How could she be surprised? Fire Nation law, Might equals Right; he’s embodied it the whole time she’s known him, while she foolishly hoped he could be better.

Steam rises between them. It obscures him, his ghostly white form rippling in and out like a spirit descending from the veil. “Trust me, Zuko.” She rolls onto the balls of her feet. Lifts her hands. “It won’t be much of a rematch.”

He takes and step towards her. It’s the only move she allows. A swooping arc of her arms launches him into the air. For a blink he’s lost amongst the blizzard, surprised scream snatched by the howling wind. For a heartbeat she entertains the idea of leaving him up there. He slams back down in a drift of ice and limp limbs.

Moonlight ripples through her body, pulling at her blood for more. But the flood of power gives way to a sour taste in her mouth as adrenaline fades.

Sokka rushes to untie Aang. She should be moving, getting back on Appa. The spirits are in trouble, Aang insists, until he, too, stops to look at the downed prince. He moves past Katara, making the call to bring Zuko to Appa’s saddle. Her and Aang have always been of one soul, though his heart is so much kinder than hers. Zuko is of the legacy that wiped out the Air Nomads, his people. All Zuko did to Katara was use her, yet Aang can let go, see a man in need.

She can’t. She can barely look at him as they fly back to war.

~ ~ ~

Face awash in bloody light, Zhao gapes at him. The red light of the moon casts his face into deceitful angles, shadows long beneath his eyes as his former teacher stares at him with shock and loathing. “You’re alive?”

There was a time Zuko would have done anything to have the Dusk Bringer notice him. “You tried to have me killed!”

Fleeing the scene, leaving his men to die at the hands of the vengeful water spirit laying waste to his navy. The fire he used to cull the moon spirit’s not even cold yet. Spirits, the years Zuko wasted desperately wanting to impress this vile man.

"I did." No remorse. A cold declaration as he wields his legendary grasp on the Snapping Willow to slice through Zuko's press of flame.

Zuko loses his high advantage, rolling away when his gambit fails. Now, both standing on the ice bridge, he faces Zhao head on. Something his uncle warned him to never do outside the honour of the Burning Place. And Zhao showed how little honour meant to him there. There are no eyes on them now. No Uncle to guard the threats aimed at Zuko’s back.

"You're the Blue Spirit,” Zhao spits. “an enemy of the Fire Nation. I had the Avatar in my grasp, and you freed him."

"I had no choice!" Zuko fires a volley of flame behind the words. Zhao continues to block his attacks. He's fresh, barely scathed from the battle, from the rage Uncle dispatched his men with. Zuko's two days without sleep, frozen, fresh from unconsciousness. Pretty sure two of his fingers are frostbitten.

Zhao bats his spinning leaf manoeuvre aside, steps in and tries to slash Zuko's core with the side of his hand. He growls in frustration when Zuko dances back, the tips of Zhao's fingers nicking him through his white parka.

"You should have chosen to accept your failure; you're a disgrace!" Zhao presses him furiously. It's always been his way, a direct violation of the Snapping Willow’s fluid mastery. Zhao would never debase himself to anything he considered running away. "Then, at least, you could have lived."

"Like you give a shit!" Zuko spins and launches off his backfoot. Zhao expected the mauver, steps to the side, and kicks him between the shoulder blades.

"I only tried to kill you after you turned traitor." Zhao doesn't press. He stands in the centre of the bridge. While Zuko heaves air into his lungs, Zhao's barely broken a sweat. " _After_ your desperation, your self-pity, made you turn against the Fire Nation to save your precious honour."

"I lost my honour a long time ago, Zhao." He's able to drag his body upright. "But so did you when you watched a child have half his face burned off and smiled."

The smile the Admiral gives him now is a cold, cruel impression. Did Zuko's admiration ever matter to him? Did he even know it existed? No. Why would he care, when Azula, the prodigy, the favourite child, was right there?

"It seems your father failed to burn all the weakness out of you. Looks like the honour will be all mine."

They meet in a clash of armour, limbs, and soft flesh. Zuko's rage blinds him until the first impact nearly crushes his sternum. He flies back, loops around a pillar and comes at Zhao from the side. The Admiral spins to meet him so Zuko propels off one foot, changing his angle so he's forced onto his back.

Sliding beneath Zhao's stabbing flaming knife, Zuko looses a scream as the flame sears across his right eyebrow. Zhao bellows, tries to bear down on him, but Zuko's failed lunge is already taking him beyond Zhao, almost to the other end of the bridge.

When he breathes it sounds like twigs snapping in his chest. Zhao spins to meet him, expecting a quick burst of retaliation. His foot almost goes out from under him in his haste.

Scrambling up, Zuko sets his feet as best he can. But ice is treacherous to a firebender. Unforgiving, nothing can grow, roots dying before they so much as see the sun.

Zhao comes at him like the Dusk Bringer of legend, his fury hot and wild. The bridge beneath their feet gleams fresh tears from the weeping ice. If they keep this up much longer the structure will dissolve beneath their feet.

And Zuko can’t go on. He can’t match Zhao’s fury, his skill. Not in the state he’s in.

He can’t face Zhao as a firebender.

He skids back, sucking in his gut when a mad swipe of the Admiral’s arm threatens to boil his guts from his stomach.

“Face me!” Zhao roars. “Stop running away!”

Zuko never runs away. His training, his struggles, his destiny. All things he runs towards. As he does now, coming at Zhao.

His opponents face splits into a triumphant sneer as Zuko comes to him. He sets his feet. Draws his hands back. The air sizzles as he builds the flames, vengeful flowers blossoming in his palms. “Turn your face to the sun!”

Zuko turns towards the moon.

Leaping to the side, his feet hit the ice and he flies. The warm soles of his feet shred through the mess of slush and water, kicking it up into Zhao’s face. He sees the shock before it pelts him. Zuko bears down through the wave of sludge onto the blind man to kick him in the chest.

Zhao grunts as he slams back into the bridge rail. Zuko leaps on him, holding the flame against his neck. Grey hair sizzles on Zhao’s chin. His hateful eyes burn up at Zuko, barely noticing. It’s Zuko’s right as victor to claim anyway. “You cut your own root. That was a disgrace to the Snapping Willow.”

“It’s called skimming.” Zuko’s throat feels clogged. It’s a struggle to speak. “Yield, Zhao, and-”

Horror descends upon them like something out of Zuko’s nightmares. Blue and translucent, the spectre detaches itself from the cannel below, rears twenty feet above them and strikes like a viper bat at its peak.

Zuko throws himself back. He hits the other side of the bridge and curls in upon himself. Unspeakable cold ravages his nerves. His vision whites out.

It slams back into focus when Zhao screams. The monster has him in its translucent grip. Frost eats into the Admiral’s armour, cracking the plates, snapping the whiskers on Zhao’s chin.

Knees lock in and out as Zuko forces his legs to move. Rushing for the rail, he grabs for Zhao’s boot. But this creature, this thing, has already dragged him too far. Still, Zuko reaches. “Take my hand!”

His old teacher strains against the fingers holding him for one desperate moment. Then Zuko sees the decision cross his face, and his reaching hand drops. The creature takes him down, down, down towards the water.

The stalk the creature is attached too shatters. It throws Zuko back again. His back hits the rail, his head thunks into ice so solid it may as well be stone. A scream. Is it his? Zhao’s? He tries to blink but can’t lift his eyes.

Until a hand touches his chin. Fingers like ice. It tips his head back, bringing him face to face with a pair of bottomless blue eyes.

“Katara?”

~ ~ ~

Her name hasn’t sounded the same in months.

Confused golden eyes blink up at her, pupils blown wide. His right eyebrow is bisected by a blotchy red burn. Her fingers leave his chin to touch it. He hisses, but when she pulls back the burn is gone. The only evidence of it is the blood staining her fingertips.

The head injury she can’t help, though something in her, something never explored, begs to be loosed under the weight of the full moon. It thrums in her blood. No, she realises when the beat pulses slow, moving as if half frozen, synced to the heavy blinks of Zuko’s eyes.

Not her blood.

Zuko’s still looking up at her like he can’t believe she’s there. She can’t believe it herself. One moment she’s watching the Ocean Spirit lay waste to the Fire Navy, the next she’s flying down the palace steps. She only stopped when her next her head was almost taken off by an errant flame. Pulled in because she knows the one person she’ll find. There and now, always barrelling into each other. She followed the pull that dragged her from Sokka, Yue, the safety of the palace, to the destruction on the bridge.

“You saved him.” Zuko’s looking past her now, to the body sprawled out on the bridge. Despite everything the hateful Admiral’s put him through, Zuko’s good eye crinkles in pain, voice forlorn. “He would have rather died than accepted my help.

He moves to collect him, but Katara steps in his way. “I claim him as prisoner.”

“What? Katara, you can’t be serious.” Zuko moves to push past her, but he’s so exhausted, far too easy to push back. “You help me just to-”

“I didn’t do it for you,” she cuts him off, voice hard with cold truth. “If Aang ever knew he took a life, even out of control, he’d never forgive himself. If it were up to me, one less Fire Nation Admiral in the world makes it a better place.”

But Aang’s devastation would be insurmountable. It would consume him.

Zuko’s gold eyes go cold. “Right, and you can’t abide anything that might hurt his feelings.”

“Shut up.” She prods his chest with a finger. “You beat Zhao. I beat you. He is mine by right.”

He looks down where she’s touching his chest. It heaves, heart pounding under the narrow point of her touch. “What does that make me?”

Mine. After everything he’s put her through, it’s the least she deserves. “Free.”

His head snaps up. Twin suns burn with confusion, surprise, and unbearable hope.

She squashes it before it can consume her too. “Get off this bridge. Find Iroh. Leave before the Watertribe find you.”

Her palm opens to press into his chest when he takes a step towards her. “Katara-”

“Get out of my life.” Impossibly, his heart pounds harder. It matches the desperate thumping in her own chest, her heart threatening to dash itself to pieces against her resolve. “Take your uncle, and never let me see you anywhere near Aang, my brother, or me, ever again.”

~ ~ ~

She must be able to feel his heart. A thousand shattered pieces pound mercilessly beneath her hand.

Gone. It’s all everyone ever wants of him. It’s a physical pain he can’t supress. He has to look away lest she see it.

It’s the last time she’ll ever have to see him. If it’s all he can have, he’ll maintain the cold, cruel visage she has of him. Hopefully one day it will finally consume him, if it means he never has to feel this horrible pain again.

He pulls back. But he can’t move.

Katara looks at where her gloved hand grips his collar, screwing up the front of his parka, as if she can’t figure it out either.

All she has to do is let go. So why doesn’t she?

Agony strangles his voice. “Katara?”

Her fathomless blue eyes dart to his lips before meeting his.

If he ever sees her again, it’s going to be across a battlefield. If he ever sees her again, he’s going to have to forget the embers of feeling she ignited in the cold forge of his soul. And she’ll have to forget whatever he sees in her eyes. A flicker of something he’s too afraid to name.

He might never see her again at all.

He’s not sure if she pulls him in or he’s the one pushing into her world. They meet in a tangle. Foreheads brush. His fingers cup her jaw and bury in her hair. Hers pull on the parka and clutch desperately at his back. They stop a breath from each other, eyes exploring each other in unspoken questions.

She studies his lips, but he has to know she wants this as much as he does.

“Zuko…”

He falls into her. She tastes how she smells. Smoke and hunger. They push deeper into the other and do not pull apart. His fingers wend through her hair. Hers trace along his jaw, his neck, and scrape along the back of his scalp. If he had hair she’d pull, and he almost moans at the thought.

The waning hours of the night spare a few for them, and there’s a hunger building in him the longer he clings to her. It’s been building since he read those first scrolls to her, the fist time they stole moments from the world just for them.

He knows he is impetuous. Rash. And he is full of many things – passion, regret, guilt, sorrow, longing, rage. At times they rule him, but not now. Not here. He wound up banished from his home because of his passion. He ended up in the snows because of his sorrow. He would have killed Zhao at first sight because of his rage.

But now he is here. He knows nothing of what his future will hold, but he took a part of it back. He took it with anger and cunning, with passion and rage. He won’t take Katara the same way.

Love and war are two different battlefields.

So, despite the hunger, he pulls away from Katara. Without a word, she knows his mind. She lets go of his parka, but darts one more kiss into him. It lingers longer than it should. Long enough for him to sink into her.

Maybe…

Maybe never doesn’t have to be as long as he thinks.

~ ~ ~

No sunrise breaks over a North Pole free of the Fire Nation. The black night fades to steely greys and ice cavern blues that bathe Katara, sending a clammy sweat across her skin that stands each hair on edge. _Keep him safe,_ she thinks as she stares into the sunless sky. There won’t be any fires to burn the prayer in for a while, so she’ll keep it in her heart for now.

Sokka’s devastation for Yue is a physical force, pushing away anyone who couldn’t possibly understand. Even Aang doesn’t try, leaving the broken-hearted warrior and the father of the moon to their grief.

Aang knows she attacked the ocean spirit in his name. An action she can no longer reconcile now that she knows he wasn’t actually sealed inside when she stopped it from taking Zhao. Even while he’s encased in ten feet of ice and under guard, an unshakeable dread fills Katara. It slithers through her veins, freezing her blood.

Master Pakku bestowed her the title of master for her bravery in battle. Aang is a stronger waterbender. The North is safe.

They won today. Tomorrow the Fire Nation will rage against the blizzard.

So why can’t she let go of this feeling?

It’s the feeling of duty to take hold. Adversity to face outside of her conflicted heart. Grief to come, be worn like a second skin. It’s not over. War hasn’t loosened its grip on any of them. Its pain will burn them; their love will forge them.

It’s the feeling of a night without end, and no matter how much she stares into the eastern sky, there will be no sun to light the way for a long time.

In its place Yue rises, and the Ever Night dawns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's interested, I wrote a lot of this fic to Biffy Clyro's Acoustic version of Space - I really love that song
> 
> Kudos always welcome, likes, dislikes, comments and complaints. Let me know what you think because I love reading them and finding out about you guys!
> 
> And please let me know what you thought not just of this chapter but of my whole labor of love! Let me know what worked for you, what didn't, and what you're excited to see as I plough on through Book Two. I don't plan on putting out the first chapter for a while, but who knows. I could be persuaded...

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos always welcome, likes, dislikes, comments and complaints. Let me know what you guys think because I love reading them and finding out about you guys!
> 
> Also I just got a tumblr. Don't really know how it works, I'm a social media luddite, but you can check it out at https://ruebear95.tumblr.com/


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